


a hope for silence

by signifying_nothing



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Death, Destruction, Explicit Sex, Full Feelings Nasty, Insanity, Intersex Character, Kidnapping, M/M, Murder, Pointless Violence, Slavery, Space Pirate AU, Tentacles, Torture, definitely more crazy murder than is healthy, general mayhem, monster fucking, this entire thing is a mess i'm sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-18
Updated: 2020-02-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 12:36:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 47,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22779397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/signifying_nothing/pseuds/signifying_nothing
Summary: The Bazaar was, as always, full.Trading, bargaining, bickering, fighting, screaming. Hundreds of pirates, scoundrels, ruffians and other such riffraff coming in and out on the regular.Captain Kim's crew, as was expected, were usually the worst of them all. They were clearly troublemakers no matter where they went. They held swords and pistols, blasters and strings of bullets and grenades across their chests and hips. They were disrespectful and loud and aggressive but the most troublesome of the lot was, perhaps, Captain Kim.
Relationships: Choi Jongho/Kim Hongjoong, Choi San/Kim Hongjoong, Implied OT8 - Relationship, Jeong Yunho/Song Mingi, Jung Wooyoung/Kang Yeosang, Kim Hongjoong/Park Seonghwa
Comments: 97
Kudos: 244





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [To Live Among The Stars](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20441876) by [SinisterSound](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SinisterSound/pseuds/SinisterSound). 

> uh. hi i'm back  
this has some really similar elements to sinistersound's space pirate fic i've noticed upon a quick reread, but think it's... different enough so as to not be too derivative? i hope? i'm listing it as inspired by, anyway, just as a precaution. please don't murder me, and go read that fic if you haven't. it's brilliant.  
this is a Mess™ but i'm fairly happy with it so i'm posting it without editing and running away love you bye!!

The Bazaar was, as always, full.

Trading, bargaining, bickering, fighting, screaming. Hundreds of pirates, scoundrels, ruffians and other such riffraff coming in and out on the regular.

Captain Kim's crew, as was expected, were usually the worst of them all. They were clearly troublemakers no matter where they went. They held swords and pistols, blasters and strings of bullets and grenades across their chests and hips. They were disrespectful and loud and aggressive but the most troublesome of the lot was, perhaps, Captain Kim.

He was a small man, with wild, dirty-blonde hair. He was never seen without a leather duster, and only rarely seen without his hat or half-mask, though he was wearing neither that day. He was obviously not quite terran, though it was impossible to say what he had been mixed with. He was short and thin but even a glance could tell that he was not only strong but sharp and fast. The nods and tilts of his head like a raptor, the width of his eyes like a big cat. He stalked through the marketplace, mouth open just enough to show his teeth—set into an odd pattern, and nearly all of them sharp.

There was no need to cause trouble today. Most of the crew wasn't even with him. Captain Kim was here with a purpose. Perhaps a slave market was a poor place to find a Quartermaster for most, but he'd had better luck in worse places. Captain Kim had, as he'd been told many times, the luck of the Devil himself.

So he made his way through the cages, broken things, broken people. There wasn't anything to be done for those who had already lost the light in their eyes. He wasn't looking for a slave. He was looking for a fearless man.

"What about this one, Captain!" hollered a tall young man who had stopped in front of the cage the... Whatever he was, really, was in.

_Aah._ The Captain thought. _There he is. _The man wasn't full terran, that much was clear by the cut of his features. He was tall, the sneer beneath his fall of dark hair a piece of masterwork, and he was visibly unimpressed by both his chains and the sight of Captain Kim stalking towards him. Good. He didn't want anyone too awed by his approach although, of course, he'd known he wouldn't be.

"Says his spe-ci-al-ity is... Naval skills.”

“Do you know what that means, Munch?” he asked, his voice very low.

“Secondary Navigator. Steering and signaling, quartermastering.”

“That's right,” Captain Kim said. “Now. Go find me the ingrate keeping this man in a cage.” While the younger man went to find said ingrate, Captain Kim looked up at his new Quartermaster. Because he was taking him. No matter the price. So rare it was, to come across a man with that fire in his eyes. That kind of madness under his skin.

The slave trader was brought to him post-haste. Captain Kim reached into the pockets of his coat and held up his hands. The first held a bag, full of an assortment of rare metal chips used in navigational systems and star charting. In the other was a long, thin tube full of glimmering, sunfire colored fluid. _Ambrosia, _anyone could tell. It was worth well more than a slave could possibly cost, but there it was. The drug had many useful medicinal properties in addition to being an incredible hallucinogenic, when prepared correctly.

“You can pick one,” Captain Kim said, showing off his teeth, his wide and unnaturally yellow eyes. “Or the other. But I'll be taking the man off your hands either way.” He had a strange and terrible accent—it scraped across his words. It matched the wretched, ragged scar that ran across his throat and then up into his hairline.

It wouldn't have surprised anyone that the slave trader chose the vial. Captain Kim scoffed in disgust, only waiting long enough for the lock on the bars to be popped off before dragging the tall man from the cage with his own hands, rather than waiting for the trader to do it for him. In a gross show of strength, Captain Kim twisted the thick center link of the chain holding the man's shackles together until it came apart with a simple jerk of his fingers. He unhooked the slave collar in much the same way. He let it drop to the ground, probably breaking a few of the sensors in the process.

“We won't be needing that. A fine day to you then, sir,” Captain Kim said, bowing in a show of respect he in no way felt or meant, and everyone in view or earshot knew it.

“Mingi.” Captain Kim snapped. “Take our new Quartermaster to the ship. Get him... Settled in. I've other business to attend to.”

“Aye Captain.” Mingi did as he was told, not bothering to grab the man to lead him. He simply jerked his head in a nod towards the docking ring, and expected the new Quartermaster to follow. Which he did.

And this is where our story begins.

Seonghwa follows the man because everyone in this damn bazaar will know if he doesn't. Gossip spreads like a plague in places like these, and all he wants is to get _off _this godforsaken space station. If that means putting up with a bunch of filthy pirates until he can make his own way, so be it.

He follows the tall man to a docking station, and then into a docking bay. To the sleek little ship at the end of it. The airlock opens and the inside of the ship is just as sleek as the outside, perhaps a bit more careworn. There is a man standing in the airlock, a scowl on his face.

“You're late,” he says, staring up at the man Seonghwa had accompanied—Mingi? “Where's the Captain.”

“He had business.” Mingi says, not defensively. “I didn't see fit to tell him he wasn't allowed. You'll forgive me for wanting to keep my head. He's been in a _mood _all day.”

“Ridiculous bastard,” the smaller man hisses. “Of all the damned days for him to. Well. Anyway. Who's this.”

“New Quartermaster,” Mingi says. “Goes by Seonghwa.”

Seonghwa's eyes narrow, but he keeps his features schooled into neutrality. How in a stars age had he known that? It wasn't like he'd talked to any of them—not that he would have been able to get a word in edgewise around how fast the deal had been brokered. His entire existence for one vial of Ambrosia. He supposes he should be grateful the pig bastard slaver had taken anything at all. By the look in his face it wouldn't have been long before Seonghwa found himself chained in a bed instead of a cage.

“I see. You've got nothing with you?”

“Obviously,” Seonghwa fights to keep from sneering. He's only wearing a station-provided jumpsuit and boots.

“There are uniforms. Our interim Quartermaster—or you yourself, if you prefer—will get you fitted. You start your duties immediately. Follow me.” The man turns away and snaps his fingers. “Mingi. Ready his quarters.”

“Aye sir.”

Seonghwa follows the short man, who has a long stride despite his height.

“I am Jongho,” the man says as they walk. “Second mate and bosun. You'll find that most of the crew work double-duty. This includes Captain Kim. He serves not only as Captain and Pilot but First Navigator. As Quartermaster it is expected that you will take position as his Second Navigator. Wooyoung!”

They are walking into a large room where a man—Wooyoung—is apparently fighting with a pistol. A _pistol. _With _bullets. _Are these people living in the dark ages?

“Aye sir,” Wooyoung says, looking up and looking at Seonghwa, sharp as a tack and clearly keen. His hair is an unnatural shade of purple, very light. Like a distant star in a milky galaxy. “Our new Quartermaster, I take it.”

“Yes. Seonghwa. You're relieved of duty.”

“Thank all the stars and saints.” Wooyoung moves out from around the counter. “I'm a weapons and demolitions specialist, Jongho. You'll be lucky if we get everything we need out of this stop.”

“It's a good thing I have Yunho to check your work then, isn't it. Get going.”

“Don't need to tell me again,” Wooyoung says, grinning madly. He turns to Seonghwa. His eyes are deep and knowing, like he can see _into _Seonghwa. “Oh, you're pretty,” he says, with a lecherous smile. “I can appreciate that in a man.”

“Get your thrice-damned libido under control and _get to the weapons depot._”

Wooyoung winks outrageously, and vanishes through the door.

“Psychopath,” Jongho mutters. “This is now your territory. With any luck Wooyoung won't have completely fucked up the requisitions logs and forms. If he has, you can speak with Yunho. He served mainly as Quartermaster for his first two years here.”

“What does he do now.”

“He mostly stays in Engineering,” Jongho says. “He has a knack for it. Make yourself at home. Mingi will be by later to bring you to your quarters. Get yourself outfitted in a uniform. Add accoutrement and personal effects as you see fit.” And with that, Jongho is gone. Seonghwa takes a deep, slow breath and turns to move around the desk. He glances through the requisitions and requests logs—well kept, overall, if a little scattered and definitely rush-scrawled and messy—and then moves to get himself into a uniform. There is one that will fit. He'll need to tailor another. He'd expected that. His body shape is not usual.

“Wooyoung, Jongho told me I should check—oh, you're not Wooyoung.”

Seonghwa looks up from where he is fastening the last button on his overshirt. The man in the doorway is tall and handsome, in a... Dirty, kind of way. Everyone here is dirty, which makes Seonghwa feel less out of place. Granted, his own filth has been building over the weeks in a slave cage, but that's neither here nor there. It's his own fault for getting careless, getting caught.

“You must be Yunho,” Seonghwa says, and the man nods.

“You have me at a disadvantage.”

“Seonghwa,” he says. “There's no need for the logs to be checked. The numbers are accurate. If not messy.”

“Aah, Wooyoung's handwriting is terrible,” Yunho laughs. It's a full, deep sound, rattling with actual mirth. A good-natured man, then. “Have you met everyone yet?”

“I should hope not,” Seonghwa says, smoothing down his shirt. He wishes he could have bathed before changing. “Unless you planned your ship to be manned by only six men.”

“It is not,” Yunho says, still smiling. “I'm supposing you haven't met San or Yeosang. San is our communications specialist, but he also does a lot of information brokering, and mans our secondary weapons with Wooyoung. Yeosang is our medical officer. He also helps me down in engineering with repairs, and pilots when the Captain or myself aren't available, among other things.”

“I'm not sure that I find eight men any better than six,” Seonghwa says. Yunho shrugs.

“We don't have room for more than that. Not unless you want to double-bunk.”

“I do not.”

“Then you'll make due with eight,” Yunho smiles. “I'll see you in the mess later.”

“Is that what Mingi does?”

“Cooks? Part of it, yeah.”

“The other part?”

Yunho smirks. “Mingi's our brute force.”

“He's part of it?”

“He's half of it.” Yunho grins and it's a bit sharp. Seonghwa enjoys the expression. “I'll see you in the mess, Seonghwa. Welcome aboard the Horizon Line.”

And it would be simple, would it not, to say that this is how the story goes?

But nothing is ever simple, is it. Not really.

Captain Kim is a _madman. _

Everyone knows this. Everyone sees it, the bite of insanity in his eyes, his toeing the line of acceptability and possibility and improbability and impossibility. Everyone can see his lust for more, further, deeper. More information, more power, more space to explore. More planets, more technology, more distance, more stars. He is never satisfied. 'Just enough' is never good enough for Captain Kim.

Except when it is.

There are times when Seonghwa watches Captain Kim at his console, his fingers on the screens, his body held in the air by a positively ancient suspension pillar that allows him to move freely, to move the Horizon Line as though he were moving his own body and can see the way his mind bend at the pressure of trying to get them out of immediate danger. There are times when simple _escape _is enough. There are times when he catches Captain Kim down in Medical with their doctor_, _though he keeps insisting he isn't a doctor at all. There are times when Seonghwa sees Captain Kim resting his head on Medical Officer Kang Yeosang's chest, simply leaning. As though the weight of his own head is too much for his shoulders.

These moments never last longer than a few seconds. And never does Seonghwa see Captain Kim crack. Not in the two years he's been aboard the Horizon Line. Not for all the time they've spent navigating, cursing at one another, nearly breaking into the occasional fist-fight before San gets between them.

Which is what's happened just now.

Captain Kim had left first, storming towards his quarters after San reassured him that Yunho could take over piloting while they were in a quiet place. They are safe for the time being, and Yunho will keep it that way, even if it's not his primary job.

“Go _cool your heads,_” San had hissed, nearly snarling at both of them. “Before you rip one another to pieces, sweet stars above.”

Seonghwa had given himself a moment—had waited for Yunho to come up from engineering, smeared with grease but easily stepping up into the suspension pillar, taking control.

They'd only been arguing because Captain Kim is a _madman. _And while Seonghwa normally doesn't dare step against him, doesn't need to, Wooyoung and Jongho are both down in Medical, and there's no way they would be able to use a warp gate to a safer system without diverting all the power _away _from Medical, which was unacceptable. Not with Jongho bleeding out, not with Wooyoung's arms and ribcage broken. It will take _time _for Yeosang to heal them, Re-Gen units or not, and Captain Kim needed to stop and _think _about something other than himself, for once!

He regrets wording it that way. Not what he said, but how he'd said it. He doesn't hate Captain Kim. He's a good man, despite his madness. He is fair, he usually trusts his crew implicitly. Though in this kind of situation—where they all just want to get out, and can't—he gets angry. It makes him difficult to deal with. He lashes out. But now that Seonghwa's not in Captain Kim's immediate presence, he can think about those things, and is already calmer. Breathing more easily. Listening.

Which is why he hears the noises coming from Captain Kim's quarters loud and clear. Not cursing, nothing being thrown. Struggling. Gagging, as though Captain Kim is being attacked, which is ridiculous. No one could get into the Captain's quarters. But as Seonghwa walks down the hall, he hears it more clearly. Gagging. Vomiting, the struggle to breathe, breath hissed in through sharp teeth. The Captain's door is open. Just a little, just a touch. Seonghwa stands beside it and listens. Listens to the panting, the coughing, hears the ragged, ground-back groans of pain. Hears staggering, a choked-off gasp. Listens to the following silence and the sound of something dripping, dripping, dripping.

Blood? Water? If there'd been a member of the crew in there with him Seonghwa might have thought it to be semen, or... Whatever the hell comes out of any one of them when they orgasm. It hadn't taken Seonghwa long to find out that every member of the Horizon Line's crew is fucking every _other _member of the Horizon Line's crew, and he has nothing to say on the matter, really. To each their own. He himself doesn't indulge very often, though he will humor the other's needs for closeness, for physical proximity when they need stability. But there isn't another member of the crew in there. It's just Captain Kim.

So Seonghwa does a very, very stupid thing. Probably the stupidest thing since Captain Kim bought him at that bazaar two years ago. He opens the door.

_You've been bought by a notorious pirate crew to help keep things in order,_ Yunho had said, in the mess that first night. _Do you feel lucky, Seonghwa? To have a taste of freedom in space? The Captain bought you, but you're a free man here. We're all free men, here. _He'd offered out his arm to show a rather savage slave brand that had been burned from his wrist to his elbow, and subsequently cut through all the way down and across. _He's is a good man. Truly. As soon as you learn that... You'll never find a better Captain in all of space._

Seonghwa opens the door to find Captain Kim bent over what looks to be a simple bucket, save that there is some kind of electrical field across the top of it. Seonghwa watches Captain Kim heave, his entire body tensing and curling up tight. The electrical field seems to burn away the vomit and bile, so he doesn't understand what the bucket is there for.

Then he looks. Really looks.

Captain Kim is bleeding from the mouth and nose. His blood glimmers in colors like sunfire. As he heaves, as more blood comes up, it passes through the electrical field—a strainer, really. It filters out everything but the blood.

Seonghwa knows that Ambrosia was a popular and addictive drug. He's never known how it's made. But it appears as though he's seeing it being made right now. With the blood of Captain Kim, _his _Captain. His Captain, who bought him from a slave trader for a bottle of Ambrosia, has never looked so small. For all of his delicate waifishness, Captain Kim walks with the aura of a man several feet taller, though no less fearless. His boots and coat, his bullets and swords. His hat and on occasion, his half-mask. He is a sight to behold, larger than life.

But still only a man. A man Seonghwa owes his life to, insane or not.

“Captain—” Seonghwa manages to get out, entering the quarters and slamming the door behind himself. He gets on his knees behind Captain Kim, wrapping an arm around his belly and settling the other on his collarbones. To his horror, Captain Kim all but collapses against his grip, body still giving terrible little heaves as he bleeds. Several small eternities later, Captain Kim shakes and spits and uncurls himself from around the bucket between his thighs, panting. Seonghwa is both shocked and terrified that he's... That he's all right, just sitting up like this is normal, like this is something that happens to him all the time—

“That's because it is, Quartermaster.”

“...What?”

“It is normal.” He says, trying to be cheeky, but his teeth are still covered in blood. He sucks at them, spits into the bucket. A few drops of his blood pass through the field.

“What you—you _bleeding _from the stomach and into a bucket that—that filters out your blood for whatever ridiculous purpose you've concocted—internal damage that causes things like that could kill you, you're part terran—”

“Why Seonghwa,” Captain Kim grins, toothy and menacing. “I didn't know you cared.”

Seonghwa stares at Captain Kim as he rises. As he takes up the bucket and brings it to some kind... Some kind of machine, that has a line of vials at the end of its workings. Glimmering liquid, the color of sunfire.

“You make Ambrosia out of your blood,” Seonghwa says, voicing his suspicion and staring at the machine, then at Captain Kim, who is rolling his eyes and smirking.

“Ding ding ding,” Captain Kim says, turning to place the bucket into an empty receptacle, at an angle. “You figured it out, Seonghwa, it only took you two years. Do you want a prize?”

“Do the others know?”

“Would it matter if they did?”

Seonghwa can't think of anything to say. His mind is racing, his heart is pounding, he—his _Captain—_

“Oh, so I'm yours now, am I?” Captain Kim asks, flipping a switch on the machine and picking up a bottle of water. “I wasn't just a few minutes ago. You were ready to break all my teeth in.”

“You were being needlessly reckless!” Seonghwa snaps. “You _know _we can't divert power from Medical when Yeosang has—”

“Yes,” Captain Kim says, spitting into the bucket again, despite the odd angle. The field fizzes and spits. “Yes, I know, Seonghwa.”

“Then _why _do you have to argue?” he asks, wanting nothing more than to _shake _Captain Kim, to figure out what the fuck makes him tick so he can figure out how to—how to make it _stop, _make it make _sense. _

“I don't think you want to know what makes me tick, Seonghwa,” Captain Kim says, smiling slow and dangerous, just like he did the first night they met. “You probably shouldn't even be associating with trash like me but here you are. First mate and Quartermaster on one of the fastest ships in the known galaxies with a _madman _at your helm and you follow him.” Captain Kim moves closer, and Seonghwa can't breathe. Captain Kim looks feral. He looks _insane._

“Or did you think I didn't know what got you in that slave market in the first place? I see _everything_, Ghost_."_ He uses the nickname that is uncomfortably close to what Seonghwa is, a nickname he's used since Seonghwa's first day on the ship. He's always thought that Captain Kim suspected, and how he's confirming that. "There is nothing I do not know about the members of my crew.”

Seonghwa isn't breathing.

“You found the only bastard in the galaxies crazier than you and you follow him like a dog on the heel and let me tell you something, Seonghwa,” Captain Kim grabs Seonghwa's uniform. Jerks him down so they're eye to eye. “There are few things I treasure more than madness in front of me, madness behind and beside. Everyone on this crew is fucking insane, and you're the last one to notice, because you're too busy looking at _me _and there are no words for how much I love that in a man. Or a _monster._”

Then the Captain is grabbing Seonghwa and Seonghwa is following his grasp because he follows, he always follows. He doesn't stop the Captain from throwing him down onto the bed—doesn't stop him from ripping away his clothes. Seonghwa even pulls off his own, panting for air, clawing his nails down the Captain's back and digging in, digging in _hard. _Captain Kim _laughs, _mouth wide open, teeth showing, fucking delighted.

“Yes,” he says, putting his hand on Seonghwa's throat, pushing down. Seonghwa tears at his thighs, his sides. “Yes, that's it. Show me your teeth, Ghost. Show me my beast who destroyed a fucking _planet_.”

What can Seonghwa do but obey?

Captain Kim is still grinning, still laughing as Seonghwa jerks him onto his back. It's his turn to rake fingernails down Seonghwa's back, his small body naked and beautiful under Seonghwa's eyes. In the dim light all of his senses feel electrified, touch and taste and _smell. _The Captain smells like _space, _like death and dirt and the stars.

“So poetic,” Captain Kim breathes against Seonghwa's ear on the tail end of a laugh. “Should have known, you're so fucking dramatic—”

“Shut the fuck up,” Seonghwa snarls, wasting no time in grabbing Captain Kim's wrists and yanking him onto his stomach, pinning the Captain's hands at the small of his back. The Captain laughs and Seonghwa fists a hand in that soft, wild hair. Tawny just like the color of his eyes.

“Tell me how you did it,” Captain Kim pants, not struggling. Not even close. If anything he tries to lift his hips, to give Seonghwa more access to his body. “Stars tell me how you fucking _slaughtered _them all—”

“It was _easy,_” Seonghwa hisses, watching his own fingertips turn black, watching the shadow twisting up his fingers and knows it's moving down his face. His mask, his 'Ghostskin.' His... Genetic legacy, as it were. “It was _easy _to kill them. One by one I slit the godforsaken throats of their elders, I flayed their warriors like I was skinning _pigs._”

“Yes—” Captain Kim licks his lips, grunting, trying to move against Seonghwa, trying to get more and Seonghwa wants to give it to him.

“It was so simple a thing to kill the rest of them, Captain. I bathed in their blood for _hours. _Felt it under my nails and in my hair and my _teeth, _my Captain, I have never eaten so well. All that _fear._”

“Nnnseonghwa—” The Captain is squirming beneath him and Seonghwa looks down. Plants his hand on the Captain's lower back and adjusts himself. Slides out his tongue and drags it up each bump of his beautiful little spine.

“I could break your neck right now,” Seonghwa says. “Right here, between my teeth.”

“Fuck me first,” Captain Kim pants. “Kill me later.”

Seonghwa wastes no time. Sits on the back of Captain Kim's thighs and presses his groin up against his backside. It's only a matter of stimulation before the tentacles slide out of the darkness his body is encased in. They're wet and slimy, they slide around the Captain's hips and across his backside and down his thighs. Seonghwa shivers in delight to feel the hundred points of suction that give him a taste of The Captain's skin.

“I cut their strongest warrior about the neck,” Seonghwa murmurs, grinning against Captain Kim's ear as his primary tentacle, slippery and hot, pushes inside of the Captain with no patience for readiness or care. Captain Kim chokes, but does not scream. “I peeled his skin from throat to groin.” the Captain's thighs part, and he tries to push up. “And after I watched the life leave his eyes I sucked that same life away from his wife and child. Left their withered corpses in my wake like so many dead flowers on the ground. I ruined that _entire race _for what they did. But you knew that, didn't you, Captain. You see all. Know all, feel all. That's how you make your damned Ambrosia, why you keep all this madness so close to yourself. Because your body can't help but bleed but let me assure you, Captain.”

Seonghwa closes his teeth over Captain Kim's neck. He fucks him harder, deeper, his tentacles holding their bodies together. One has even wrapped around The Captain's length, hard and wet. Seonghwa forces Captain Kim up onto his knees. His Captain is still laughing, breathless and gasping and eyes rolling. Seonghwa's black hands spread open on his smooth, bare chest.

“I can bleed you better than you could ever bleed yourself.”

“_Prove it,_” Captain Kim pants, wriggling one arm free and reaching back to grab Seonghwa's wet hair, yanking on it. “Prove to me you're the mad monster you think you are and I swear I'll give you the universe on a fucking _plate _Seonghwa, anything you want, anything your fiendish fucking heart desires will be _yours._”

“All I want is your sweet, sweet blood in my mouth, Captain,” Seonghwa hums. Picks up the knife at the bedside table. Feels its precious weight in his hand, feels the balance of the blade. It's a good knife, full of murderous memories. Seonghwa wraps his fingers around the hilt.

Slits Captain Kim's throat from ear to ear.

The Captain chokes, orgasming in a hard, hot spasm as his blood is caught by a slick slide of shadow. He stays there, shaking, then shivering, then falling to the bed, unable to hold himself up. Still Seonghwa catches his blood, fucks into him, merciless. But Captain Kim is not afraid. Seonghwa has never felt his Captains' _fear. _His sadness, perhaps. His aches. But never his fear. Not even now, as Seonghwa turns him over and lays between his legs, letting his human cock sink inside of Captain Kim's body, wrapped in that shadow, so thigh and long it _must _be painful but the Captain just lays there, tongue on his bottom lip, grinning madly even as he starts to fall unconscious.

“Oh,” Seonghwa purrs, sliding his fingers down the side of Captain Kim's face. “Oh, Captain, that's beautiful.” He pushes as far inside as he dares, the Captain's legs spread open so wide he looks like he might crack in half. With a few final pumps of his hips, Seonghwa fills Captain Kim with the same black, slimy and viscous fluid that covers his entire body, turning him into a diaphanous shadow, an almost terran figure in a fog of black. That fog covers the wound on the Captain's neck—leaving a sweet, thin scar beneath the large, thick one that currently mars him. That one is crude, really. It looks like it was made with a meathook.

Seonghwa takes great pleasure in cutting Captain Kim's flesh. In spitting on it to seal it. In hearing knocks and voices that the Captain can't reply to because he's still speared on Seonghwa's cock, trembling in overstimulation and unable to do _anything _about it aside from clench and tense and shake.

“What a beautiful little body you have. Look, look what I've harvested for you,” he lifts Captain Kim's face and turns it toward the machine. There are six buckets lined up, ready to be emptied into the machine. “I've made you a very, very wealthy man.”

“And a well-fucked one,” the Captain gasps, throat dry. “_God, _Seonghwa—your cock—”

“That too.” Seonghwa grins, manic. “I'll give you my cock any time you ask, Captain. I'll take you right over the navigation console. San can watch. Would you like that?”

Captain Kim grunts. Songhwa pushes in harder. He can't get any closer. He can't get any further inside. “_Fuck._”

“Is that a yes or a no, Captain?”

“Yes yes yes fuck—_fuck—” _

His darkness is receding. Seonghwa licks his lips—tracing his fingers over the tip of the Captain's nearly-limp cock. And Captain Kim is laughing, wild and reckless, feral and bright as a blue giant. He throws his arm over Seonghwa's shoulder, digs his nails in and yanks him down for a fierce kiss. Not even a kiss. More like... Biting and laughter. But his laugh is a star and Seonghwa orbits it, so he bends down and kisses his mad, maniacal Captain—deep and breathless, still sliding in and out of him until Captain Kim's eyes roll closed, his body lost to unconsciousness.

Seonghwa doesn't think he's ever seen Captain Kim look so... At peace. Calm.

So Seonghwa bids the darkness inside of him to close around them. Let his Captain sleep a little longer. Just a little longer.

But of course, our Captain and his Quartermaster are not the only people in our story, are they.

Yunho met Mingi on a caravan.

Neither of them knew the Captain then. Neither of them had even been in space yet. They met on a caravan on a beautiful jungle planet. Mingi was a member of the mercenary core _Eretek, _known for taking on the dangerous jobs with the highest paychecks. The ugly brand across the back of his neck made Yunho, a branded slave for said caravan, a little uncomfortable. But also a little... Curious. He did his best not to show it.

He hadn't shown it. Not when the mercenary proved himself to not only be sociable and deft when the caravan pulled into a outpost or city. Not when his sternness and severe attention were on the on the landscape around them, or even in their set-ups in cities. He'd been hired to protect them, of course. For a very handsome number, if Yunho knew correctly.

But all peace ends.

Yunho was given the _privilege _of seeing Mingi kill. He was a monster. Tall as anyone without his slouch, splattered in blood as he killed with pistol, machete and bootknife. Mingi picked up enemy weapons and seemed to learn how to use them in fractions of seconds. When the enemy, the attackers, started to overwhelm with sheer numbers, Mingi shrugged off his long duster and _moved. _He moved like a snake, like one of those old terran dragons. So fast and brutal Yunho could barely keeps eyes on him as he struggled to use what little knowledge he had of weaponry to assist in the fight.

It was incredible, really.

Yunho had lifted a heavy rifle. It was too big, an awkward burden on his arms, but he lifted it anyway, balanced it on a large crate. Looked down the sight and shot.

The bullet went straight through the head of a brute about to jump on Mingi's back. Something... _Hot. _Rippled through Yunho at the sight. Something ugly.

Yunho pulled on the reloading bar. Changed his angle, shot again. Aimed for the creatures in light clothing and masks on their faces. The enemy. They were the enemy. Attacking them, hurting them, killing them. None of the people on the caravan knew how to defend themselves. Most of them were simple merchants, only looking to not be robbed.

When it became clear they would be overtaken in force, Yunho grabbed the reins of the nearest boar and handed them to the Caravan Master.

“Get out of here!” he shouted, regardless of his own position as a slave, uncaring of the consequences. “Take what you can and go! Now!”

The old man listened. Cracked the whip and the boars ran with all their force and power, squealing and screaming and snorting. The other boars followed, pulling their wagons and the people inside them, hiding. Most of the others were already dead.

Yunho didn't go with them.

Instead, he picked up the closest gun—an assault rifle—and began shooting.

He was backing away from the nearest enemy when his back slammed into hot shoulders, wet hair. Mingi. They pressed their backs together and, together, the two of them slaughtered the rest of the enemy. When they ran out of bullets, they did it with machete and, in Yunho's case, a heavy pipe. He was a strong man. It didn't take much to crush a skull. Very little force, indeed.

When it was over—when the last of the screaming, flailing, self-destructive enemies had been blown to the ground, Mingi turned to Yunho. They were both panting, bloody, sweating. They stared at one another across the blood and gore and sand. Neither of them knew who snapped first. Only that one moment they were standing two arms away from one another and the next they were snarling, biting, clawing at one another like animals, grinding at one another until Mingi managed to pin Yunho against the flat of one of the broken wagons, their bodies hidden by the cover.

“That was beautiful,” Mingi said, biting into Yunho's neck as Yunho tore at his hair, spread his legs. “You're a killer through and through, aren't you.”

It made Yunho's gut clench in pleasure to be told such things in Mingi's rough voice. He let Mingi fuck him right there in the wagon, surrounded by all that blood and gore and filth, the smell of blasters and cordite and hot metal, sweat and sex and spit.

Yunho let Mingi fuck him for as long as it took. Threw Mingi on his back to fuck himself down onto him, grinning, a free man smeared with dirt and dust, shining with sweat. Mingi grabbed him hard enough to bruise, fucked him hard enough to force him to fall forward, hands on the wood, give Mingi access to more of his body.

They belonged to one another, after that.

The rest of the Eretek mercenaries on the job were either dead on the ground or gone protecting what was left of the caravan. Mingi didn't know and Yunho didn't care. They started taking jobs together, Yunho's forearms always wrapped up. Beatings and murders and always they were left in fierce and animal condition. Sometimes they didn't even make it out of the murder scene before they fucked on whatever surface was available, bloodied or not.

That was how the Captain found them. Covered in blood, pants down as they fucked against a wall, Yunho's legs at Mingi's waist as he fucked himself down onto Mingi using only his shoulders and thighs while Mingi held on. Yunho didn't have the decency to stop as a small man meandered into the room, pistol over his shoulder as he whistled at the damage.

“I see you two had some fun?”

“Uhnnyes,” Yunho had replied, grabbing Mingi's hair as he came in a hot, wet splatter. Mingi grabbed him by the hips and threw him down onto the nearest flat surface with a resounding slam that made Yunho laugh.

“I heard there were a couple of murderers out here,” he said, leaning into the desk. “But you two just look like you're on a honeymoon.”

Mingi laughed, grunted as he yanked Yunho closer and raked his fingernails down the outside of those lovely thighs. Thick and tanned and long.

“We are,” Yunho breathed, sitting up and wrapping one arm around Mingi's neck to kiss him deeply. Mingi didn't even bend. Held Yunho's weight with his neck and shoulders. “Every murder scene's a honeymoon, isn't it.”

Mingi snapped his hips forward and Yunho fell back to his elbows, grinning. Looking at their guest, so small and yet so... Large. Larger than life despite his waif-ish stature, with wild hair and even wilder eyes.

“I'm looking for some muscle,” he said, as though Yunho and Mingi weren't connected at the cock. “You two seem to meet the requirements so tell me. How do you feel about a large, steady paycheck and a life upstairs, doing exactly what you're doing now.” He jerked his head towards the half-open roof.

“Let-mmm,” Yunho's eyes rolled back as Mingi raked nails down his chest. “Let us think about it.”

“I'm leaving port at sundown tomorrow. If you're interested, come down to the Horizon Line. I've got a fairly good incentive bonus.”

“We'll see,” Mingi said, eyes narrow.

Just as quickly as he'd come, the small man disappeared, and Mingi was free to bend over. To pull Yunho in against him and kiss him deeply, slowly. Kiss him for real, as he always did when they finished in places like that. Because for all that Mingi was an amazing killer, a machine who could slaughter without thought as long as he was on a job, he was also very gentle man. The murderer child killer who never learned to read, never had his hand held, never had the wounds he obtained healed by anyone but himself, looked to Yunho to bring him down from that high. That blood-pumping, adrenaline-soaked thrill of survival, when all that mattered was that their enemies were dead, and they were not. Where thought was not necessary—only the execution of the plan.

Mingi looked to Yunho when the jobs were over, and Yunho brought him back. Fingers in his dark, wavy hair, running gently through it instead of grabbing it. Kissing that was more tongue than teeth. Bodies pressed close together and soft words whispered into his ear. Yunho loved to do it. Loved that not only was the empty-eyed killing machine was his, but the man beneath it, too. A privilege, his alone.

So, the next day, Mingi and Yunho gathered their weapons. Pistols, boot knives, machetes. Swords, metal knuckles and, for old times sake, that heavy metal pipe. They headed to the spaceport, clean but dusty with the walk. They were holding hands. They were not killers, then, as the Captain met them at the port, grinning like the fiend he was.

“There you are Yunho, Mingi,” he said, bowing ridiculously, one arm showing them in. “You will find Jongho in the loading bay, and he will show you to your rooms. Or room, if you prefer. It doesn't matter to me.”

“And what are we to call you, Captain?” Yunho asked, eyebrow cocked.

“I am Captain Kim.” he said, with a fierce confidence that rippled over his entire body. “Welcome aboard the Horizon Line.”

And it's easy to say, isn't it, that this is all they are to one another. Sex and blood.

But that's simply not true.

Mingi is still shaking with adrenaline. It isn't often that they're outmanned, outgunned, overpowered. But the planet was supposed to have been abandoned and it clearly was not. They'd been taken by surprise, and at San's demand Captain Kim had to fly them out before they could be killed or the Horizon Line irreparably damaged. They couldn't rick it, not with Wooyoung broken in pices and Jongho bleeding out from a wound in his leg and another at his neck that he'd managed, somehow, to keep closed while Yunho threw him over his shoulder to get him back onto the ship in one piece.

Mingi is shaking with adrenaline down in Engineering while Yunho works frantically to keep everything stable, to divert as much power as he dares to Medical while still keeping their essential functions powered on, including their reflective shields that Wooyoung, the mad genius, had devised a year ago. Yeosang needs at least one of the Re-Gen units working, and hopefully—hopefully, that's enough.

So Yunho turns to Mingi, who is glancing about like he's never seen Engineering. He is trembling ever so slightly. It's hard for him to come down after being so brutally outmanned. It's hard for Mingi to come back from what he's called his _bad place _in circumstances like these_, _and Yunho reaches out to smooth Mingi's hair, to pull him in for a warm, tight hug.

It's not that Mingi is childish.

It's that in the cage of Yunho's arms, he feels safe enough to come down hard and fast. What would usually take a few _days _happens in a few minutes instead, and he's left shaking, not crying but unable to see past the blurry line of Yunho's shoulder. His mouth is open and his body is limp, his mind not all present. Yunho guides him down to the floor and presses Mingi's ear to his chest. Holds him there, lets Mingi feel his heartbeat pulse through his body.

He's alive. They're alive. The battle is over even if it was not won. Mingi is safe. Yunho runs his fingers over the scarred skin, where Yunho and Captain Kim had cut off Mingi's Eretek brand. It comforts Mingi greatly to know that it's not there anymore, Yunho knows this. So he runs his greasy fingers over the skin, through Mingi's hair. Wants to snarl when San calls down that he might need to come pilot in a minute, because _'they're at it again' _and there's no one else available.

“Lets go to our room, mm?”

It's not really their room. It's Yunho's room, where Mingi usually sleeps. But sometimes Mingi has nightmares, memories yanked back up from his unconscious mind to torture him. Scenes of himself as a young child, stealing, pickpocketing, finally killing first in self-defense and then out of aggression—dominating his little corner of the world with fear. It's a powerful weapon for a man Mingi's size.

Scenes of murders, slaughter, imaginary or not. Scenes of Yunho's death, Captain Kim's death. Only the deaths of others and never himself, because Mingi does not fear his own death, nor what comes after. Even in his weakest moments, he only ever worries for the others.

Yunho takes him upstairs. Lets him into Yunho's room and undresses him, lays him down in the bed that's large enough to fit both of them comfortably and fills nearly the entire room.

“I'll be back as soon as I can,” he promises, kissing Mingi's forehead, his cheeks, the tip of his nose and his lips. “Stay in here. Don't go out, okay? Promise me you won't go out.”

“I promise,” Mingi says, nodding as Yunho pulls the blanket over Mingi's naked, vulnerable body.

“I'll come back. I promise.”

Mingi nods again, and holds the blanket in his fingers, up against his mouth.

Yunho hates having to leave him in this state. But if Captain Kim and Seonghwa are at one another's throats he has more important things to do no matter how he loathes the task.

They have been at one another's throats. San is practically shaking with agitation, and he looks up at Yunho as he steps into the suspension pillar.

“I'm sorry,” he says, gritting his teeth. “I'm sorry, if there was anyone else—”

“You don't need to explain to me, San,” Yunho says. “I know they're... Impossible, lately.”

“I wish they'd just fuck and get it over with.” San says, trying to breathe regularly. He'd been their eyes in the sky when they'd been ambushed as they hunted for useful spare parts around the abandoned outpost. And as much as it should have been Captain Kim, it had been San who made the call to bring everyone back. _There are too fucking many of them! Get your asses back here and get us in the air before the ground shields break down!_

It's rare for San to lose his composure like that. To make a call like that. But then again, they had been heavily outmanned, outgunned, and the only ones on the ship had been San, useless in a firefight, and Yeosang, who couldn't be trusted not to have an _episode _on the field.

“You should be with Mingi. He needs you.”

But Yunho sees the way San's fingers shake as he watches their communications board, as he monitors the ships facilities and functions. San suffers from the same condition as Mingi, though it manifests differently. Normally Jongho would be standing behind him, arms draped over his neck, or Wooyoung, sitting with San in his lap. But they're both in Medical, fighting for their lives, and they don't have the spare hands for anyone to help Yeosang.

“Say that again, Yeosang?” San says suddenly, turning back to his board, touching his earpiece. “Oh thank the stars above. … Yeah. Keep me updated.”

Yunho doesn't have to ask. San tells him.

“He's got Jongho stabilized and in the operating Re-Gen unit. He doesn't have any shattered bones, just flesh and arteries, so he'll heal up faster than Wooyoung will. Yeosang has to re-set most of Wooyoung's bones manually, anyway.”

Yunho shudders. He doesn't understand how Yeosang has never flinched at the sight of blood, snapped bones, ripped muscle and gore, at someone's guts being held in by their shaking hands. Yunho has never so much as heard him gasp when scalps are torn off or fingernails ripped out, eyes out of the socket or brain tissue exposed. Somehow, Yeosang stands all of that and yet freezes, falls to his knees and vomits while in a battle himself. Yunho can not understand. It's a very strange contradiction and one he's never asked about.

“He should have both of them taken care of in about twenty-four hours.”

“You should go down there, when you have a few minutes. The ship isn't going to fall apart just because you aren't here to watch it, San. I can man that board from here, anyway.”

Yunho watches San close his eyes. Feels something like how he worries for Mingi when San's pink-tinged tears shimmer down his cheeks with no other outward sign of distress. Not even a tight mouth.

“Later,” he says, opening his eyes and wiping his face with both hands. “Later.”

It's a wonder to Yunho that San recovers so quickly. Perhaps a moment of weakness, that is allowed to touch his conscious mind for a moment, to be dealt with later.

Regardless, it takes _hours _for Captain Kim to reemerge, looking thoroughly debauched, red-lipped, bruised and tousled despite San's infrequent knocks. Yunho has always known that Captain Kim is beautiful, but he's never been given the pleasure of getting to see him when he looks like _that. _

“Another time, Yunho,” Captain Kim says, as though he can read Yunho's mind and Yunho, over the course of his time here, thinks that he must be able to. There's no other way he could know what he knows. No way for him to scoop up information the way he does.

“After our next fight. I'll let you and Mingi fuck me. Spitroast me like a sow, mm? For now, go tend your boy, Pup.”

Captain Kim has always called Yunho _Pup, _called Mingi _Boy, _or _Munch. _It had confused Yunho and Mingi at first, but a nickname is a sign that Captain Kim likes you. Even Jongho's nickname—_Overlord—_had been given in affection.

So Yunho pushes himself out of the suspension pillar, and walks down from the bridge. Seonghwa is coming up the ramp and he too looks like he's spent the last six hours fucking or getting fucked. He smirks, and Seonghwa grabs him by the collar, pins him to the wall.

“And what's so funny?” he asks, teeth bared, and Yunho just smiles.

“Just thinking about how good it would be to pin you down and fuck you when you're balls-deep in Captain Kim. Let go of me, Seonghwa. I have matters to tend to.” To his surprise, that's all it takes. Seonghwa lets go, and after a moment leans in to bite Yunho's ear, to breathe at his skin,

“Maybe next time.”

Then he is gone, and Yunho walks down to quarters to find Mingi still curled in his bed where Yunho left him. Yunho climbs in behind Mingi, kisses his shoulder, wraps one arm around his ribs and settles the second beneath his head. Perhaps he should go see if he could help Yeosang, but his hands aren't steady enough now.

“Yunho?”

“Shh, I'm here. I'm here, go back to sleep. You're safe.”

Mingi, who has trusted Yunho implicitly since that first spread of killing, closes his eyes. Yunho kisses the scar where that brand used to be, and sleeps.

Our Enforcers have lives of their own, beside our Captain and Quartermaster.

But they are not the only ones.

San was a communications analyst and specialist. He happened to know his way around computer systems of all kinds. He knew about ten languages and a lot of ways to kill a man with a few very specific weapons, including the ones he happened to be born with. He also knew when to lay low.

He was laying low, at the moment.

He hadn't been _caught, _but he was nothing if not cautious. It wasn't his fault that the information he obtained had been linked to several black market smuggling operations, and that the law would want him to give that information up, and the smugglers wanted him dead for it. Better to be safe than sorry.

He'd already killed one smuggling captain for coming after him in this safe place. He didn't have a problem with killing another one.

Even if the cock he was riding was _incredible._

San was having trouble... Not necessarily controlling himself? But he was enjoying this more than he usually did. Working in a brothel generally left a bad taste in his mouth (in every meaning of the words) but they were a safe place to disappear into. And San liked that. Being able to disappear whenever he saw fit. Becoming invisible, a beautiful face in a writhing sea of beautiful faces, always looked at, never seen. That was how he liked it.

Not being seen.

But he felt very seen, at that moment. Through the low neon light and the shadows on his client's face San felt _seen _and he didn't like it one bit. And the man beneath him—with wild hair and the eyes of a feral cat—was forcing San to ride him slow, so slow. Up and down so he felt _everything. _The drag of his cock, the wet slap of their skin. San's arms were draped over his client's shoulders, hands behind his head—they were hooked together with a pair of soft leather cuffs, as they usually were unless a client desired otherwise. It allowed the workers to be attached to all kinds of equipment in the rooms, but the client had just pushed open San's robe, knocked him back onto the bed despite San's taller stature, and bullied him to the headboard. Had given him perfunctory preparation and slid right into him without delay or even much foreplay though, if San was being honest, he preferred it that way. No false pretenses. The man was here to pay and fuck something, and San was here to get paid and fucked. 

The man thrust hard, slamming San back into the headboard and the wall. San hissed through his teeth, baring them.

“Oh, those are _lovely,_” the man said, leaning in to lick at San's mouth, his sharp teeth. “Tell me, Choi San. Do you tear out many throats with those pretty teeth?”

How the fuck had this man known his _name—_

San tried to jerk back. The man grabbed the headboard and forced him against it, taking away any leverage San might have had by pinning him completely. San's breathing was hard and fast. He didn't dare look. So he stayed there, entire body pulsing with adrenaline as the man kept fucking him like he hadn't just outed San for lying.

Not... Not _lying. _San didn't lie. He just... Got creative. Looked at the truth in a new angle. Omitted specific information for his own safety.

“Ah ah ah,” the man said, thrusting slow and deep, grinding. San grunted, knocked his head back into the wall. “None of that now.”

“Fuck you,” San hissed through his teeth.

“Yes,” the man said, almost laughing, licking his way up San's neck, his jaw. His mouth. “Let me make you an offer, Choi San. I will take you off this spaceport,” a thrust. “Out into the stars,” another. “And you can fuck over all the people you want with that talent you don't admit to having, and that pretty little palmtop you've got in your go-bag under this very bed. I'll even let you use those ribbon knives you're so proud of.”

“What's the catch,” San panted, unable to even wonder how the fuck the man knew about... About _anything_. He was too busy getting the best sex of his life. Stars it was so good, this man _really _knew how to fuck. His hips moved in a slow, tight circle. San's cock twitched, leaked. “Wh—what's the catch.”

“I might need you to tear out a throat here and there,” the man said. “With this pretty body, and those beautiful teeth. Something tells me you won't mind.” He thrust hard and San jerked, belly tight. Oh fuck, oh _fuck._

“You like killing people, don't you San?” he asked, speaking in San's ear, forcing their bodies close together. San started to squirm, to jerk back and forth and up and down, struggling to get more contact for his aching groin. “You're a good boy who likes killing bad people. And I find myself in need of an amoral communications specialist with a taste for blood and adventure. Don't you want off this pathetic station?” The man grabbed San by the hair, jerked his head to one side to speak into his ear, to bite at his throat. His teeth felt sharp, too.

“There's all of space out there, San. All those stars to see, all that scum to bleed dry and dead.” The man shifted his arms, hooked them under San's knees and grabbed the headboard. San's arms fell back down around his client's neck.

“And I'd love to see what a savage you are when you're off this fucking leash you've put yourself on. I'd love to see you chase, San. See you _kill. _I want you to kill for me, Choi San.” The man licked up San's neck. Bit in so very, very softly. San almost couldn't feel his skin slice open.

“I want you to be the beautiful murderer I know you are.”

“_Yes_—”

San jerked up and then curled in, clenching his thighs, slamming his arms down onto his client's shoulders, fisting his hands in that tawny hair and demanding a kiss with his own sharp teeth, his long, slick tongue. It was given to him. He panted and spasmed and shook. His client pulled him away from the wall, turned and threw him to the bed. San was too limp to do anything but lay there, arms up over his head, wrists tied together, as the man pushed in, pulled out, pushed in, in, _in. _

“Yesss,” San bit out, arching his back, almost feeling the rush of heat, his thighs tight. “Yes, _fuck._”

“Good,” the man said, licking at the bites he'd left on San's throat. He kept thrusting gently, even as he drew himself out of San, leaving him bereft on the bed. San almost whined.

“Hush now,” he grinned down at San. “There will be plenty of time for that. Meet me at the port tomorrow. The Horizon Line. We leave at 1800.”

“I'll be there,” San promised, panting. “But who—who are you?” His breath couldn't catch.

“Captain Kim,” he said, leaning to kiss San very gently on the mouth. “I'm Captain Kim.”

But as we've learned before, sex and blood aren't all a man is made of.

“Get down there, Teeth,” Captain Kim says, glancing over at San. “Seonghwa can take over your station for a few hours.”

San doesn't even bother sticking around for Seonghwa's inevitable protest, for the bickering that will ensue. He all but flies off the bridge, running down the ramp, taking the emergency stairs two at a time to the second level of the ship, to Medical. He hasn't heard from Yeosang since he'd been told about Jongho and now—now his panic is starting to claw up his throat.

San throws himself through the Medical bay doors and finds, to his... To his _feelings of some kind, _that Jongho is no longer in the Re-Gen tank. He's laying on one of the beds with the blankets pulled up to his chin. Wooyoung is now in the tank. He's floating there with a mask over his mouth and nose, a blinder over his eyes. Sitting there at the side of the tank, covered in blood with his knees at his chest and his forehead on his knees and his tan arms bent up to fist hands in his own white-blonde hair, is Yeosang.

“Yeosang?” San asks, keeping his voice very low, as he always does in Yeosang's delicate presence during moments like these. Now is not the time for exuberance or panic, no matter how much he feels it. His friend is clearly feeling fragile enough on his own. “Yeosang are you—”

“Fine,” Yeosang says, his voice dead. Controlled. “Both fine. Jongho lost a lot of blood. Flatlined once. Couple hours in the tank healed up the worst. Better if both. Too late now though.”

“Yeosang—”

“Wooyoung flatlined twice,” Yeosang says. His voice is still as expressive as a piece of white paper. “Alm—” Yeosang swallows. Doesn't look up. “Could have died. Didn't. Be fine. Few more hours. Get the bones set then switch them out.”

“Yeosang,” San whispers, getting down on the ground in front of him. “Yeosang, it's okay. They're both fine, it's okay.”

“Almost wasn't,” Yeosang whispers back. “Almost lost, lost both—”

“But you didn't,” San says, reaching to try and physically Yeosang out of himself. All of his joints crack like wooden sticks. “They're both still here, Yeosang, they're fine, you said so. You should know, you're the doctor!”

“Not a doctor. Just experienced.”

San has never been brave enough to ask _what _experience. What kind of experiences could leave Yeosang stone-faced to horrific violence and the results thereof, but the thought of his friends dying in a firefight made him physically ill? Trying to join a firefight made him collapse in on himself, shake like a child—San wants to asks, sometimes thinks he should, but never does.

“Come on,” San says, forcing Yeosang up from the floor, staggering back as Yeosang's body doesn't resist the pull. He holds Yeosang by the arm and pulls him to the back of Medical, where Yeosang's own quarters and shower are. Yeosang doesn't resist him—he never does. Yeosang never resists anyone, but he also never engages if he doesn't want to.

“You're covered in fucking blood,” San says, turning on the shower. “You can't be walking around like that, you're a mess.”

San grabs Yeosang's arm and pulls off his shirts, unbuttons his sturdy pants. Unlaces his boots, makes him step out of them. Like an idiot, like a kid, Yeosang does as he's directed, up to and including getting under the spray of warm-ish water. His eyes are very far away, like they almost always are after shit like this.

When San gets undressed to join him, since he might as well take a shower too, Yeosang's finger draws across the pearly rose-gold top of his shoulder.

“Pretty,” he says. San smiles brightly. He knows he's pretty. All of his joints are dusted that color, his shoulders, elbows, hands and knuckles. Knees, ankles, the knobs of his spine. His bigger joints have tiny scales, remnants of a lost bloodline. They're nothing special but they do draw attention. San used to wear tight dark clothes and gloves just to hide his coloring, but since coming aboard the Horizon Line he's... Lost that inhibition. The urge to appear as something he's not.

“You say that every time,” San says, grabbing for the shampoo bottle. Everything on the ship is cheap—not because of lack of money, but because they'd all rather put money into a better filtration systems or superior hull protection than things like expensive shampoo or fine clothes. They were impractical anyway. Even San wore the same uniform as everyone else, though they were all personalized in their own way. It's neat, seeing all their personalities show up in their uniforms.

Yeosang's uniforms, despite him having been here longer than San and only a bit less than Jongho, are just as plain as the day they were given to him by the former requisitions officer. San hasn't missed that Captain Kim had slowly been filling the ship with more like-minded people: mad bastards who don't care if the worlds burn, so long as they and their friends aren't on them. They haven't picked up anyone since Seonghwa, though, and San doesn't think they will. They're a good set, he thinks. A good team.

Even Yeosang, who stands there like a doll as San washes him down, gets the blood out from under his fingernails, out of his hair, out of his eyelashes. He does his best to treat Yeosang like his behavior is normal because stars knows that it isn't, but trying to tell Yeosang something like that might do more harm than good. San doesn't want to hurt him, not at all, not ever. He doesn't want to hurt anyone on this team. Well. Maybe Jongho on occasion but he's just asking for it, behaving like a brat the way he does.

“You should get some sleep, Yeosang,” San says, toweling Yeosang off, getting him into a fresh set of sleeping clothes. “I can switch them out.” Yeosang's eyes widen and his mouth opens but he doesn't say anything. Maybe he can't.

“I'm serious! I'm strong enough to lift them. Besides, you're not gonna want to deal with Wooyoung when he gets out of the tank, he's going to be seriously bitchy and you _know _I'm right. You should just focus on getting some sleep. Come on. _Sleep._”

San drags Yeosang to his room, which is hung with several loose panels of fabric, small strings of bells and flags and lights. He practically shoves Yeosang into his bed—it's the same skinny single on the floor he's had since he got here apparently, which San thinks is a crime but to each their own. It has lots of blankets on it though, like it's actually a skinny little nest pressed against the far wall. But San shoves Yeosang into it, and draws the blankets up and even gives his forehead a wet, smacking little kiss. Normally, Yeosang might flush or at least try to get away, but right now he just squeezes his eyes closed and disappears under the fabric. San leaves him alone. Now that he's got Yeosang squared away, he needs to check on the other two.

He'd come aboard the Horizon Line for the opportunities to kill bad people. And he does, when they stop in port and Captain Kim needs a throat slit. But more often San finds himself trying to keep the crew from falling to pieces in any way he can. Because as insane as they all are, they're his family now.

Even obnoxious Jongho.

Who is sitting up on the bed Yeosang had dutifully tucked him into, if the bloody handprints on the cloth are any indication. There's blood _everywhere, _actually. All over the floor, the side of the Re-Gen unit, on the doors of the locked medicine cabinets. Between the rocking of the Horizon Line as Captain Kim forced her up into orbit and the fact that it was only Yeosang in here, trying to keep two men from dying on him, it's not a surprise that the place is a mess.

Of course, by all logic, Jongho and Wooyoung should both be dead. The wounds sustained should have killed them easily, but here they are: Jongho, rubbing at his freshly-healed neck and groaning. Wooyoung inside the Re-Gen tank and stable, according to the video feed readouts. San takes a deep breath and lets it out in a huff.

“Could you stop trying to get yourself killed? Just once? You're going to give Yeosang an aneurism.”

Jongho squints up at him with one eye, the other tightly closed. His hair is a rats nest, but San is just so glad he's alive that he can forgive that. He can forgive it just this once. He hugs Jongho tightly as he dares.

“Where is he,” Jongho asks, his voice horrible and rasping. “...This place is a disaster.”

“Well, you were bleeding out and Wooyoung's entire upper body, arms included, was caved in on itself, so I think Yeosang had better things to worry about than where your arterial spray was going. He was probably making sure his own projectile bile wasn't going directly into your wounds,” San says, a bit testily. “And surely you'll forgive me for thinking that getting Yeosang stable again was more important than the state of the floor.”

“Is he okay?” Jongho asks, massaging his throat up and down.

“Of course not,” San says. “But he's in bed now, that's all that matters. I got him in bed, and hopefully he'll stay there. He wanted to switch you and Wooyoung around, once Wooyoung's bones are healed up. I think Yeosang managed to get any major damage to Wooyoung's internal organs repaired while he had him on the table and was manually re-setting all of his bones with his bare hands.”

“Stars,” Jongho winces, pushing his hands against his eyes. “That's disgusting.”

“Says the man whose blood is literally all over Medical,” San rolls his eyes, pressing a kiss to that messy hair. “Look, just. Stay in bed, okay? I'll get the place cleaned up.”

“I'm sorry,” Jongho says, as San turns to make for the cleaning supplies. “I should have called it sooner. I'm sorry.”

“It's my job to do shit like that,” San says, jaw clenched. “Not yours.”

“You're eyes in the sky, San. I'm eyes on the ground and we both know it.”

“Well, it's too late now.” San grabs a bottle of pre-mixed sanitizing solution and fills a little pump-sprayer, picking it up and starting to spray the walls, the glass, the floor. He has no idea what the hell is in the stuff, but it smells like alcohol, and when it comes into contact with any bodily fluid it breaks it all down, almost seems to un-make it as it dries down into nothing more than white dust. San cleans up all the mess. Then he picks up the tools and the instruments and the apron Yeosang must have yanked off when it got to be in the way of whatever he was doing—it's covered with hardened vomit, blood, splatters of gore and shards of bone.

“...I'm throwing this out,” San says, shoving the thing into the garbage chute.

“He'll be angry at you.”

“He can be mad at me all he wants,” San snips. “I'll buy him a new one next port stop.”

“How did he manage to save both of us, anyway,” Jongho asks. San doesn't answer, because they both know that neither of them know. The cameras in Medical have been disabled since Yeosang came. Any attempt to hack through them is met with a good old fashioned piece of leather tied around the camera itself. San thinks Wooyoung knows, but has never asked.

“Ask him no questions, and he'll tell you no lies.”

“I don't think Yeosang knows how to lie, he just doesn't answer.” Jongho mumbles, glancing at the Re-Gen unit. “How's Wooyoung.”

“About ready to come out, I think. Yeosang said it might be a few hours, but I have no idea how long I had him in the back.” San says, taking off the gloves he'd been wearing to pick up all the bloodied instruments—scalpels, pliers, that kind of thing—to put them into a wide basket for soak-sanitizing. He looks at the screen, then at Wooyoung.

“Yeah, I think he's good. You all right, need help?”

“I got it,” Jongho mumbled, pushing himself up out of the bed. He's nude, but then again so is Wooyoung. Yeosang would have cut their clothes off to see if there was any other serious wounding, and Jongho had a bullet through the femoral artery so he would have lost his pants, anyway. At least Medical is always a bit warmer than the rest of the ship—the one place they don't mind splurging on the extra energy consumption.

San presses a release that opens the top of the see-through tank. It's Yeosang's most prized possession in all of Medical—he _made _it, put it together, found out what he needed to do to make it happen, to make this little regeneration unit work like magic. It cost him so much money, especially to have it installed so that the fucking ship could be flying upside down and whoever was in it wouldn't get jostled or hurt. He's been tinkering with the second one, trying to optimize it, or whatever, but this first on is his pride and joy. Even Captain Kim is impressed by it. Easy to see why, as Wooyoung's body is lifted out of the cell and nutrient regenerative gel that's been holding him stable for the last few hours and looks like nothing happened to him at all. There's only the barest sign of an incision down his chest and across the curve of his ribs.

San reaches to pull the eye cover and breathing mask off, but Wooyoung is already doing it himself—gagging as he pulls up the breathing tube and gasps for air.

“You're supposed to wait for me to do that,” San says. Wooyoung, rather eloquently, flips him off and stumbles off the platform. San catches him, barely, and throws him to one of the beds. “Stay there. Jongho, come on. Let me change the mask and tube, and you're all set.”

It's a simple enough procedure to change out the mask and tube. And Jongho has no gag reflex—the result of a lifetime of eating rotten shit from garbage cans and refusing to vomit any of it back up because who the fuck knew when he'd eat again, or so he says. So it's easy to get him in the mask and then into the tank, sliding the eye cover on and giving his forehead one last kiss. Jongho makes a disgusted face and San shoves him under the fluid, closing the tank and watching as Jongho sinks to the bottom, the drugs flowing through the mask easily putting him to sleep.

He turns back to Wooyoung, dripping as he lays on the bed. His breathing is normal, anyway.

“You're so fucking reckless,” San mutters, hauling him up to wipe him down, sit him in a chair, make up the bed with clean sheets. “What the fuck were you thinking.”

“That some big asshole wasn't gonna fall on me after I already fell sixty feet,” Wooyoung says, laughing weakly. “I was wrong.”

“Stars, Wooyoung—”

“I know, all right? Fuck, San, I _know._”

“Do you?”

San stares at Wooyoung for an uncomfortable amount of time. But San, being what he is, doesn't have to blink nearly as often as Wooyoung does.

“That's cheating,” Wooyoung says as he blinks, rubbing at his eyes. “Fuckin' snake eyes.”

“Genetic advantage isn't cheating,” San says. “Seriously, Wooyoung. Are you gonna be okay? That was some fucking scary shit. It's a fucking miracle you got back here at all.”

“Mingi had me for the last leg of it,” Wooyoung says. “Couldn't feel anything. Adrenaline high and all that. I remember getting in here, n'then... Nothing.”

“Nothing at all, or just nothing.”

“...Just nothing.”

San nods, and appreciates the honesty. He doesn't ask Wooyoung how Yeosang makes the miracles happen. He never asks. He's afraid of the answer.

“Look. Just... Lay down, stay down. I'll get you something from the mess when Mingi's not collapsing in on himself. Should only be another couple of hours.”

“Yeosang keeps a stash of non-perishables in his desk,” Wooyoung says, as San lays him back onto the clean bed. “Bottom right draw. Should be electrolyte water and protein bars.” San checks, grabs one of each item and brings them over.

“Here. Get these down. I need to get back up to the bridge before Seonghwa and Captain Kim kill one another.”

“Pff. Killing one another is not on their agenda, I'm sure.” But Wooyoung eats the protein bar, and downs the entire bottle of water in one go. He lays back and looks up at San. “You're sure Yeosang is okay?”

“He's in bed,” San says. “That's the best I can do for now. I'll come check in on you guys later. I'll send Yunho and Mingi, too.”

“Thanks Ma,” Wooyoung laughs, and San kisses his forehead, softly, just like he had Jongho.

“Get some sleep.”

San leaves Medical after dimming the lights. No doubt Yeosang will be out of bed in an hour, fussing over his patients, but that's better than him standing there, catatonic and numb and empty, like his life has been completely sucked away. Anything's better than that.

But before our Communications Officer, there were two boys with magic hands.

They found one another, before their Captain found them.

When Wooyoung was eight, he built his first bike. When he was ten, he built his first motor. When Wooyoung was thirteen, he finished rebuilding the motorcycle that got him out of the shithole outpost he'd been born in and instead got him to a shithole city three days away. But a shithole city was better than a shithole outpost, so he didn't complain. Just sold the motorcycle, along with whatever valuables he'd brought with him, and made his way.

Mostly by stealing, for the first few months. He was good at it, with deft hands and a bright, boyish smile in a sweet, dirty face that most people looked kindly on. He used the money to keep himself fed and clothed and somewhat stable until he found a job at a junkyard, where he was free to tinker with whatever bullshit parts he wanted, provided he didn't make any weapons.

So Wooyoung didn't make weapons, he made _toys. _

Dangerous, dangerous toys that made shot plasma or bullets or electrical charge. Toys that got him money from black-market merchants, more than enough money to live on but he kept up his job. He liked the old man that he worked for, liked the junkyard and all the magic it had to offer. Liked it enough to stay there almost three years.

What he _didn't _like was men in black suits showing up and shoving his boss around like they thought they owned the place. And when they finally physically threatened Wooyoung and the old man with their pathetic handguns, Wooyoung threatened them with _his _preferred assault weapon—the shotgun that shot _shrapnel _at a high velocity with a small spray. He was dreadfully fond of it. Called it _Starlight, _on account of how all that metal shimmered and shined like stars through the air. And in the gored-out flesh of his target.

“What the fuck do you want,” Wooyoung snarled, the gun cocked and aimed.

“Do you know this man?”

Wooyoung didn't even look at the photo.

“I ain't ever seen that motherfucker in my life.”

“If you happen to see him. There's a cash reward for his return.”

“Right. Whatever. Get the fuck out of here before I blow your goddamn face off.”

He didn't lower the gun until the men in their fancy car were gone. Fucking rich people. Stars and all the Saints above, like the world owned them any goddamn thing. He picked up the photo, ready to tear it in half and throw it out, but...

That face.

Wooyoung knew that face. That was the homeless kid down by the salt piers. The one who always wore a hood and hardly ever looked up from the mug he held in both bony hands. What the fuck did that skinny little shit do that those suits would be after him?

Naturally, being curious and a nosey asshole besides, Wooyoung went to find out. Covert-like, so the suits didn't catch him. It was easier than he thought it was gonna be. He knew his way around the city pretty well, and he knew all the back and underways through everything. He almost wasn't fast enough, though. He was crawling up out from under a grate at the bridge when he spotted the kid against a building. At the end of the road were the suits. They hadn't seen him yet—he was too small, all curled against the stone wall, hidden in the salt dust. Wooyoung didn't bother trying to think about it. He got up, ran to the kid, grabbed him by the jacket and dragged him away from the wall and down under the bridge—clapped a hand over his mouth when he heard the suits above them. They were pressed all the way back against the angle where the bridge met the hill, pretty well hidden.

But when Wooyoung looked at the kid—turned to really looked at him—it was beyond obvious he was terrified. He wasn't moving, not at all, like he was made of stone. His eyes were wide, and he held his mug against his chest like he thought Wooyoung was gonna steal it from him or something ridiculous like that.

“Those guys are _after you,_” Wooyoung hissed, nodding towards the grate. “Come on, we gotta get out of here.” He didn't bother waiting to see if the kid was all right with his decision—just yanked him into the dark of the sewer and, once they were in complete darkness, grabbed his hand while the other hand lifted his flashlight.

“I'm Wooyoung,” he said. “Sorry about that. Those suits showed up at the junkyard n'were trying to get info on you. Figured they didn't deserve whatever it is they was willing to pay for.” The boy cocked his head, and Wooyoung shrugged.

“People who show up with guns and try to intimidate me ain't the kind of people I think deserve much of anything. So what's your name?”

“Yeosang,” the boy said.

“Hold are you?”

“Sixteen.”

“Me too,” Wooyoung grinned. “Come on, I'm just gonna head back to the junkyard—you wanna come? You got anywhere else to go?” Yeosang shook his head. His hood fell back a little, and Wooyoung saw that his hair was a bright white-blonde. Sensible that he should keep it covered, then. It was like a goddamn beacon. Even though Wooyoung's own hair was light purple, he'd never seen hair that color.

“Well, we got plenty a'old vehicles and shit if you wanna sleep in one'a them, if you don't wanna sleep with me. Come on.”

So began an extremely unlikely friendship. Yeosang wasn't good at _making _things, but he was good at repairing them. He always wore a hood or a wrap around his head to hide his hair. He tended to stay in the back rooms, mind his own business. The old man liked him because he cleaned up and played chess—Wooyoung liked him because he was good company, once you got him talking, though that was the hard part. Wooyoung liked him because he was pretty, because his features were soft, and the little smear of pink near his eye looked like it deserved a kiss.

When Wooyoung was eighteen, there was... An accident.

He and Yeosang had just been in the buggy—that's what Wooyoung called their two-seater 'scrap retrieval vehicle'—and riding fast through the desert toward a recent wreck when something just to the left of the buggy exploded.

Wooyoung went flying—Yeosang tumbling after him, arms curled over his head. But Wooyoung... Couldn't breathe. Couldn't speak. There was hot wet all down his chest. As he stared up at the impossibly blue winter sky, Wooyoung realized his throat had been penetrated by something. A piece of metal. Fuck. Oh, fuck, he was going to bleed out. Right here, in the dirt, he was going to bleed out and leave Yeosang alone.

“Wooyoung,” Yeosang said, his voice low and a little rasping, desperate. There was red splattered all over him, his face, his clothes. “No, no Wooyoung no, please—”

Wooyoung wanted to comfort him. Say something, anything. But all he felt was cold, and numb. He could barely feel Yeosang's hand lifting his to press to Yeosang's cheek. He couldn't make out the words Yeosang was saying. Might have imagined the tears on his cheeks as he knelt there over Wooyoung. Might have imagined the sound of his voice, his fading whisper. _You're gonna be okay, Wooyoung, you're gonna be okay, please be okay—_

He wished he could have told Yeosang how pretty he was, at least once. Kissed that little pink mark near his eye. Wishes he could have maybe kissed Yeosang's lips, just to see if it felt as good as he hoped it might, but now never would.

Or so he thought.

Wooyoung died.

Wooyoung died and woke up again. He woke up and the moon was low in the sky, the sun still streaking red from the far curve of the planet like it didn't want to leave. He could see it through the threadbare material over his face. And he was laid out in the sand, and there was a body curled against him.

Wooyoung groaned, and immediately the body jerked upright.

“Wooyoung?”

“Nn?” Wooyoung struggled to sit up. Yeosang pushed him back down.

“No, no don't, stay—don't get up, you're okay, we're okay.”

“What...”

“Proximity mine,” Yeosang said. “I think. I got—the supplies out of the buggy, I think the whole thing's a minefield, we, we should get in the tent, c'mon, it's gonna get cold soon.”

Wooyoung was disoriented but helped Yeosang pull him into the two-man tent. He probably hadn't been able to manage it when Wooyoung was out—Wooyoung was muscular than Yeosang was, more dense. The blankets were in the tent, spare clothes and bottles of water, the bag of rations they always left in the back, in case they got stuck somewhere. It was already getting chilly. Wooyoung didn't fight the way Yeosang laid him out, got him covered up, the two of them tucked in close to be as warm as they could when they didn't have the protection the roof or body of the buggy might have afforded them. At least it wasn't windy. Yeosang must have changed his clothes—there was no blood to be seen on either of them, as though that piece of shrapnel in his neck had been a dream.

“What... What happened, Yeosang?” Wooyoung asked, touching his throat. He'd been bleeding out, he _knew _he'd been bleeding out. He'd been _dying. _But there was no wound there. Not so much as a scar. Yeosang pursed his lips together and looked away.

“Yeosang, what happened?”

“I,” Yeosang swallowed, squeezed his eyes closed and flinched like he thought Wooyoung was gonna hit him or something. As though he could fucking lift his arms to do so.

“Now you know what those suits wanted me for.” He spoke so fast Wooyoung barely made the words out.

Suits? It took Wooyoung a moment to put two and two together.

“What? The guys from—from before? Yeosang that was _years _ago.” He said, sitting up and immediately regretting it, laying back down and putting a hand on his head. “What are you _talking _about.”

“I,” Yeosang bit his lip. “I keep... People from dying, Wooyoung. You know that, I'm a professional by now.”

“What.”

“I... That's what I did,” Yeosang looked—and sounded—like he was going to cry. Wooyoung hated it. “You, you were bleeding, Wooyoung there was so much blood, and I thought you were gonna die, I _knew it, _and I couldn't—I couldn't let you die_, _Wooyoung, I—”

Okay. Okay, Wooyoung couldn't deal with any of this right now. None of it made any sense. His head was throbbing, his neck ached. Yeosang was warm and Wooyoung was tired_. _

“Yeosang,” Wooyoung sighed, disoriented, feeling drugged. “Look. I'm... I'm really tired, and it's cold, can. Can we just sleep now? Please?”

Yeosang nodded, burrowed in against Wooyoung. Kissed his cheek very, very gently.

“I'm never gonna let you die, Wooyoung,” he whispered, like a solemn vow. “Not if I can save you.”

Wooyoung opened his eyes to look at Yeosang in the dim light filtered through the tent. He cupped Yeosang's face in his hand, leaned in, and kissed that little pink mark near his eye with all the gentleness he could gather. They separated with a wet sound, a tiny thread of saliva connecting them like a bit of spider silk.

“We can talk in the morning, Yeosang. Lets just get some sleep.”

Wooyoung did sleep. Yeosang must have, at some point, because Wooyoung woke up to Yeosang tucked against him. He felt terrible, waking Yeosang up, but they needed to get back, if they could. If the old man hadn't sent someone after them already—or come himself, and was waiting for them to emerge, to see what state they were in.

Sure enough, there he was when Wooyoung managed to crawl out of the tent, Yeosang right behind him. His bearded face was lost between a scowl and some kind of fear.

“Idiot,” he said immediately. “You took an old map. Why do you _always _take the old map? What the fuck is wrong with you? You drove right into a fucking war-era minefield.”

“Sorry,” Wooyoung cracked out, dragging himself to his feet as Yeosang joined him, looking more exhausted than Wooyoung had ever seen him before. “Sorry. The buggy?”

“Already got it hitched up. Repairable. Won't take more than a day. And the two of you? Any broken bones? I didn't find any blood, which is a goddamned miracle.”

“What?” Wooyoung asked, looking to Yeosang, who looked away. “Oh, I mean. We got pretty lucky, we both few out the roof instead of the side, so there wasn't anything for us to hit, really. Went flying right into the dirt.”

“You're one lucky bastard, Wooyoung. Come on, get in the wagon, I'll get you two back.”

Wooyoung grinned, climbing into the back of the 'wagon' which was really just a flatbed with a small canvas curved over it to protect parts from getting rained on. He slid in under it, and pulled Yeosang in with him. He waited until the engine started to speak.

“Yeosang, what did you _do_?” he asked, reaching out to touch Yeosang's beautiful hair. Yeosang closed his eyes.

“Told you,” he said, grabbing Wooyoung's hand in his own, moving closer so he could hold their laced fingers against his chest, so he could kiss their knuckles with a kind of passion Yeosang never showed to _anything. _“You're never gonna die, Wooyoung. Not if I can save you.”

“That doesn't answer my question,” Wooyoung said, speaking against their fingers, all that separated them. “Yeosang—”

“Please don't,” Yeosang whispered, almost whimpered, shaking his head. “Please don't. Wooyoung please. It's—it's not important. It's not important. I promise.”

Wooyoung wanted to argue. It sure as fuck _seemed _important. But Yeosang looked like he might cry again, and Wooyoung hated it, so he didn't ask. He never asked. Not at any point in the next three years, when Yeosang and Wooyoung came back from accidents, explosions and other misfortunes with not a wound to be found. Not when Yeosang became an expert with medical supplies and tools. Not when Yeosang took an apprenticeship at the local hospital but sometimes came back after a long shift so sick he could barely stand. Not when the civil war that had been simmering since they were seventeen finally exploded when they were twenty-one and Yeosang ran off into the desert, into the _fucking wilderness _with nothing but his backpack. Fucking _idiot. _

Of course Wooyoung went after him. He wasn't a bad tracker, though he'd been mostly focusing on making weaponry and demolitions for the last couple of years, getting ready for the civil war everyone knew was coming and no one wanted to stop. He had a few tools meant for searching, though they were calibrated to metals and other useful scraps, instead of people. It didn't take long to change that. It did take a couple of days, but Wooyoung found Yeosang. Found him tucked into the space behind a waterfall at the furthest oasis they'd ever been to together.

So far the war hadn't reached it yet.

“Yeosang?” Wooyoung asked, not wanting to upset his friend, his... Boyfriend? And unsure of what to do. Yeosang looked small, pressed against the wall with his legs to his chest, forearms on his knees, face in his forearms, bent so his fingers could tangle in his hair and pull it with white-knuckled fists. “Yeosang.”

“I can't,” Yeosang said, taking shuddery breaths, speaking to his legs. “I can't, Wooyoung I can't be—it's too much, I can't—”

“What's too much, Yeosang,” Wooyoung asked, though he thought he might know. Thought he might finally have a slice of understanding about what happened in the desert three years ago, when he should have bled out all over the sand, but hadn't.

“I can't _save them,_” Yeosang said, pulling harder on his hair. “There's—there's too many of them, I can't save them all, it's just—it's Aldorna all over again and I can't—”

Aldorna? What the fuck did the capital city have to do with this?

“Yeosang calm down. Start at the beginning. I don't understand, I need you to explain it to me.” Wooyoung had said that a lot over the years. Yeosang was usually happy to oblige him with a warm, tolerant smile and a ruffle to his hair. This time, he watched Yeosang struggle to breathe, to unfold himself and rest his arms on his legs, letting go of his hair.

“Remember,” Yeosang said. “Remember when the buggy exploded. And you got that piece of shrapnel in your throat.”

“Yeah,” Wooyoung nodded.

“You didn't die.”

“...No. I didn't.”

“That's because I made sure you didn't.” Yeosang's whisper sounded like the words were being wrenched out of his gut. “I _made sure _you didn't. I can—I lost a lot of people in Aldorna, Wooyoung, I. I wasn't going to lose you too.” Yeosang reached out, groped for Wooyoung's hand. Wooyoung gave it to him.

“Okay,” he said, wanting Yeosang to continue.

“In Aldorna... You remember that massacre. All those families in the narrows getting trapped by the walls, and the fire.”

Wooyoung did remember. The fire in the so-called 'poverty district' was big news all over the region. Everyone said the narrows were dangerous anyway, people living on top of one another in squalid conditions, trash and clothes everywhere, drugs produced in mass quantities with dangerous chemicals. The fire had started in one of those drug labs, supposedly, and the whole district went up like a fucking tinder box because there hadn't been rain in weeks. The narrows were surrounded by high walls, built to keep the poor and sick and insane, escaped criminals and pirates and filth in one place. Some people said the people in the narrows deserved it. Wooyoung thought that sounded like bullshit.

“I was there,” Yeosang said, pursing his lips. “I was there, I was... I think. Nine? I—I can heal people, Wooyoung, it... It's what I _do, _I've always been able to do it, but it. It hurts me, sometimes. Hurts my head and my body, if it's too much. But I can—I can feel it. Hear it. It's like vibrations in my ears, in my bones. When people are hurt, when people are... When they're dying.”

Sweet stars and saints above. Wooyoung squeezed Yeosang's hand.

“So I—I was there, and I was trapped, and all those people—all those people were _dying, _Wooyoung, and I—I couldn't do anything, I couldn't help anyone, I was trapped in the crawlspace with the entire district burning down above me and all I could do was—everything was _vibrating _and it hurt, it—it made me crazy, I couldn't stop throwing up, I came out of that crawlspace when it was cold and I was. I was so messed up. I was _so _messed up, Wooyoung, I. I was one of those fucking crazies you hear about living on the streets and talking to themselves and starving to death because they can't get _help._”

Yeosang's eyes were far away, staring at the roof of the cave. Wooyoung couldn't do anything but listen, hold his hand.

“One... One night I saved someone, I finally... I could save people again. We got mugged, he was knifed, I. I saved him. The guard spotted me doing it, they _saw. _And—and they came after me, Wooyoung, they chased me down and the only reason I got away is because the others wouldn't let them find me. Because those other homeless crazies looked out for me. I didn't want them to get hurt. So I... Left them, and was on my own. I wore hats and hoods and never let anyone see my hair, because it was a dead giveaway—”

Yeosang said this with great disgust. He'd never been able to dye it another color. It just never stuck.

“I ran away, as far as I could on my own. Hid here, down at the piers. Tried so fucking hard to be invisible, but. They followed me everywhere and then... Then you came.” Yeosang smiled at Wooyoung, his eyes and cheeks wet with tears. Yeosang hated crying, Wooyoung knew.

“You came, and you. You dragged me under the bridge, and I thought you were gonna kill me but then you didn't. You didn't know who I was, or why they were after me, you just... Didn't want them to get me so you made sure they couldn't. I didn't want you to find out, Wooyoung, I didn't but then you—” Yeosang's voice got high and shaky with remembered panic.

“You were bleeding out, you were _dying, _and we were the only people around for miles and I couldn't let you die, I couldn't. Not you, Wooyoung, anyone but you and it hurt so bad but you were worth it, Wooyoung.” Yeosang squeezed their tangled hands close to his chest like he had all those years ago in the desert. “You'll always be worth it.”

Wooyoung dragged Yeosang away from the wall by their clasped hands. Kissed their knuckles, and then kissed Yeosang. Kissed him properly, for the first time ever. They'd shared short, small kisses before. They'd held hands and slept in the same bed, but neither of them had been brave enough to put a name to it, to admit what it was.

So Wooyoung kissed Yeosang, deep and wet and messy. Yeosang kissed him back, arm around Wooyoung's neck and shoulders, another in his hair. Wooyoung's arms went around Yeosang's ribs and waist, yanking Yeosang into his lap and gasping when Yeosang's body finally, finally _finally _came into full-body contact with him. It was like he'd been waiting for it his entire life and now it was happening, Yeosang's weight forcing Wooyoung on his back, his hands under Wooyoung's shoulders, fingers in his hair. Yeosang's knees on the ground to either side of Wooyoung's hips and Yeosang's groin rubbing against his own. Looking back on it, Wooyoung would laugh at their frantic 'first time,' if it could be called that, laugh at how desperately the two of them held on to one another, like the world was going to rip them apart. He would laugh at how Yeosang sobbed in his ear, tease Yeosang about it for years afterwards.

But at the time, it was the most affection either of them had ever felt. With Yeosang's fingers in his hair, and his own hands holding Yeosang's hips so they could push against one another instead of Yeosang doing all the work, came in a hot, wet rush that left them both panting, groaning, kissing until they stopped moving together. They stopped kissing only long enough to spread out the blanket Wooyoung had brought with him, so they weren't laying on the cold, wet stone.

It took another year for them to be found. Traveling from place to place, never staying long. Wooyoung did repairs on tools, weapons and vehicles. Yeosang worked in wards until he couldn't handle the strain and they had to leave.

The stranger found them on one of those nights, when they were escaping from a small town on the coast, close to a ship launching site. He'd walked right in front of them.

“I heard rumors about the men with magic hands,” he said, arms crossed on his skinny chest. “But I didn't think they were true.”

“What the fuck do you want,” Wooyoung hissed, shouldering his preferred shotgun—a newer, more effective version of the one he'd pointed at the suits all that time ago, the one that shot shells of shrapnel. Only now it spat glass and stones, actual shotgun shells. Anything else he could put into its loading chamber. Beautifully effective at anything but an excessive distance.

“To make you an offer,” the small stranger said, raising his hands in a show of peace. Yeosang, too, had a gun trained on him—a nearly silent plasma rifle, its barrel resting on the space between Wooyoung's shoulder and neck. Wooyoung was _especially _proud of that one. Made it specifically for Yeosang, so they could watch one another's backs. Or their fronts.

“Speak, then.” Yeosang said, his voice hard. He'd hardened so much over the last year. It made Wooyoung's heart ache.

“I have a ship,” he said. “The Horizon Line. I'm in need of both a weapons specialist and a medic.”

“We ain't either of those things,” Wooyoung said. The stranger cocked an eyebrow.

“What I've seen over the last few days tells me otherwise. Wooyoung, you're the most talented tinker I've ever seen, and I've seen many. And Yeosang, you're a _healer_, a dying species I'm sure either side of your government would _love _to get their hands on.” Wooyoung felt Yeosang stiffen behind him, felt the barrel of his gun move ever so slightly.

“I know you're a package deal. I'll take that, it's more than acceptable. I have a ship. I have a crew of no more than eight men at any given time. And I'm looking for some crazy bastards who want to get off their shithole planets and go far enough away that they're in an entirely different _galaxy._ So. If you find yourselves in want of getting off this shithole planet, we're leaving at dawn. We're at the launching runway, deck eight.” The man stepped out of the way with a motion of nonchalance. “If you want to come, come. If you don't, well. It'll be a loss for me, but I'm not going to beg.”

“And who the fuck are you, exactly?” Wooyoung snapped, not liking that this stranger knew their names. They used aliases wherever they went. There was no way the man should know their names.

“Captain Kim,” he said, smiling a toothy, madman grin as he walked away, moving backwards with a little wave of his hand.

Sure enough, Wooyoung and Yeosang were at the Horizon Line at dawn, and were met by a small-framed man with an unamused expression.

“You must be Wooyoung and Yeosang. Get inside, we're leaving in ten minutes. I'll show you around once we've launched.”

And while Wooyoung had never _asked _what happened to the previous medic and weapons specialist (or indeed, what happened to _any _of the crew as they were slowly replaced, one by two by one) he'd decided he didn't want to know, when he looked into that smaller man's hard eyes and saw fierce, fierce life there. And death.

“You got it,” Wooyoung said, pulling Yeosang by the hand and Yeosang, as he always had, followed behind him.

Of course, we know you can take the boys out of the shithole, but you can't take the shithole out of the boys.

Wooyoung watches Jongho's readouts for as long as he can before he admits defeat and lays down in the clean bed. His entire body aches as he pulls on the light scrubs Yeosang keeps for them to wear when they're in Medical, in case their clothes get ruined. Wooyoung probably should have spent a little more time in the Re-Gen tank but he's a faster healer than Jongho is anyway, and besides, he'd... He'd rather Yeosang do his healing, if he can. He knows Yeosang does, too, which is why it doesn't surprise him to wake up to Yeosang standing over him. His dark brown eyes are shining with blue, as they always do when he works his talents. Wooyoung feels better. Hates what he _knows _it's doing to Yeosang.

“Hey,” he croaks, throat dry. Yeosang turns his head painfully slowly, jerkingly, like a broken android might. Fuck. He looks terrible. “Hey, you can stop. M'okay. Promise.”

“It still hurts,” Yeosang whispers.

“A little ache ain't so bad, Yeosang. We got pills for that. You can stop.”

Yeosang does. He slowly moves his hands off of Wooyoung's chest and staggers backward. Wooyoung's got a fist in his shirt and yanks Yeosang's lighter weight up into the bed with him. It says something about how exhausted he is that Yeosang doesn't protest. Doesn't fuss or complain that Wooyoung's gonna undo all his hard work. He just lays there, half on top of him, cheek on the soft skin between Wooyoung's shoulder and chest.

“What happened,” Wooyoung asks, and Yeosang shakes his head. Wooyoung can feel that he's crying. Yeosang hates crying. “Tell me what happened. Please. Explain it to me.”

“Jongho flatlined,” Yeosang says, shaking. “I lo-I lost him, for almost a minute he—I couldn't hold on to both of you, he was—he _died, _Wooyoung, I—” Yeosang's fist closes in Wooyoung's shirt, stretching the thin fabric.

“I got him—I got him in the tank, just flesh and blood no, no bones, no major organs. Got him in the tank and you—” Wooyoung feels Yeosang sob, loud and shameless since they're alone.

“_Twice, _you flatlined _twice, _I couldn't—your ribcage, and your heart was punctured, and your lungs were failing and you weren't breathing and I couldn't—I wasn't fast enough to _fix it—_”

“But you did,” Wooyoung says, pulling Yeosang up with one arm, using the other to pull Yeosang on top of him, chest to chest. Yeosang reaches under Wooyoung. Cradles his head and holds his hair. Wooyoung wraps his arms around Yeosang's waist. It's such a comforting weight. Has been since the first time.

“You did, sweet, I'm right here. I'm fine, Jongho's fine. You did it. You saved us. You and your miracle machine.” He kisses the top of Yeosang's white-blonde hair. “My hero and his miracle hands.”

Yeosang presses his forehead against Wooyoung's sternum. Tightens his fingers in Wooyoung's hair. Wooyoung lets him stay there. Doesn't stop Yeosang from falling asleep, exhausted, truly and bone-deeply exhausted, his muscles still spasming from how hard he'd been shaking.

When Captain Kim comes in, Yeosang is still there, limp on top of Wooyoung, who is stroking his hair and staring up at the ceiling.

“The fuck do you want,” Wooyoung asks softly, smirking as he looks over at Captain Kim. The Captain is looking at him—at all three of them—with a softness he normally doesn't allow himself to show.

“How's our Starboy, Junkyard?” he asks, grabbing a chair to sit in, leaning forward into the back of it, arms crossed. He'd given Wooyoung his nickname his second day on the ship. But Yeosang had only gotten his after a firefight, when Captain Kim caught him staring at Wooyoung, recovering well on a bed in Medical. Starboy, so called for the stars in his eyes.

“Recovering,” Wooyoung says. “Was really hard on him this time. We gotta get that second unit up and running. Maybe put in a third.” He pauses.

“He can't keep doing this.”

“I know,” Captain Kim says, with a finality that means he really does understand. But he'd understood when he'd brought the two of them on board, he'd known that accommodations would eventually have to be made for Yeosang to keep doing what he does.

“We're gonna stop at Schai's Landing. Get all the parts. I don't give a fuck how expensive it is. Yunho's already agreed to make sure it gets put together properly, help calibrate it. Yeosang's got the directions all written down, or he can talk Yunho through it. He's gotta let someone help and you can do a lot of shit, Wooyoung, but you can't build this. But I don't want some random asshole on my ship thinking they can take Yeosang or his designs out of here. I won't have it.”

_Not again, _he doesn't say, because when they'd installed the first Re-Gen tank, the man who helped Yeosang put it together had not only tried to steal his papers on it, but also tried to steal _Yeosang. _He'd had him in the loading bay, dragged by his hair and thrashing in his bindings, screaming into his gag. Jongho had gotten there first. Two old style bullets, one through the heart and the other through the head. Mingi and Yunho dumped his body in a swamp some distance away. Made sure the local critters had eaten it before leaving the port. Captain Kim hasn't let anyone on board since. All dealing are done off-ship, and Yunho is in charge of anything engineering or building related.

“Thank you,” Wooyoung says. Captain Kim nods, his expression sliding back into stoicism.

“Luckily, if someone does get on board, Seonghwa can handle it. Talented bastard. I know we might have trouble at Schai's Landing. I'm anticipating a little harassment, but nothing else. We won't be there for another forty hours. We'll talk planning, then.” Captain Kim gets up, looks at Jongho, then at Yeosang, asleep on Wooyoung's chest. He runs one hand over Yeosang's head in something like affection, stroking his white-blonde hair.

“We'll make sure no one hurts our Starboy. He doesn't deserve all this crazy bullshit, but I'm glad he's here. Glad you're here too, Junkyard. Get back up to speed soon.”

“Yeah, Captain.” Wooyoung smiles, isn't surprised when it's not returned, and closes his eyes. He can hear Captain Kim knock on the glass of the Re-Gen tank. 

"You hear that, Overlord? Schai's Landing."

And then Wooyoung is listening to the drag of his Captain's boots, the opening and closing of Medical's main door. As ferociously insane as Captain Kim can be, as absolutely, gut-punchingly, heart-stoppingly and awe-inspiringly _mad _Captain Kim is, Wooyoung's glad they're here, too.

He'd never let himself or Yeosang be under another Captain.

Both of them would rather die, first.

Last, but never least, our Bosun. The man in charge of all beneath our Captain.

He, too, was once a boy.

Jongho wasn't afraid of anything.

Fear could be turned on you. Fear was _weak. _And so Jongho was fearless, hateful, proud and dangerous, running through the city streets and alleys and sewers. He moved up the buildings, down them, over them and through them without ever stopping, never getting caught. He ate everything he could, drank when he could, stole when he could. He carried two shivs and a stolen pistol, tucked into a makeshift holster on his shoulder and beneath his light jacket.

He never got caught. Not doing anything. No one even knew what he looked like. He was a myth, and he played the city he ran though like it was a puppet on a string. He enjoyed it. _Loved _it, even. Fucking people over, killing people, racing for his own survival while others just didn't try hard enough. Didn't have enough sheer fucking will to _live. _

Jongho would _live. _

If he had to murder everyone in this fucking city he would live.

That was how Captain Kim found him. In a dark alley, slicing the throats of six men with a steak knife and a shiv. All of them were larger, stronger, never faster. No one was faster than Jongho. No one saw more than Jongho. So when he was done with the brutes at his feet he went for the stranger in the alley, easily pinned him, knife to his throat. The only thing that stopped him killing the stranger was the fact that he was a stranger at all. Jongho had an excellent memory. Nearly photographic. He'd never seen the man's face before.

“That was _amazing,_” the man said, his eyes full of wonder and savage, savage pleasure. “Sweet stars above that was—fuck, I'm _hard,_” and the man laughed, his smile bright and boyish and mad.

“What,” Jongho hissed, snarled really. The man let himself be pressed harder to the brick, didn't try to stop Jongho from holding him there.

“Fuck, I'm so hard,” the man panted, looking down, licking his lips. “Stars. Stars do you fuck like you fight because—nn—” The man _was _hard. Jongho could feel it. He'd fucked the occasional whore before. Pinned them to a wall just like this, or taken them from behind while holding a leather blindfold tight to their eyes. This man had seen him. He should kill him right now.

“You can fuck me right here,” he said, panting. “You can bend me over one of those dead motherfuckers, I don't even care.” The man was nearly shaking, opening his legs like a whore would, hands on the brick and tongue resting on his bottom lip.

Jongho could kill him after, maybe. It had been a while.

So he grabbed the man with a tight fist in his wild mess of hair and dragged him over. He didn't mind being fucked on a dead man? Fine. That was what he'd get. Jongho picked one of the bigger men—bent the stranger over the corpses wide back. Yanked his leathers down only enough to expose him and did the same to his own. He liked to fuck after big killings, but this was new. Novel, in a way. No one had ever come to _him _before.

Jongho didn't bother preparing the man with more than a few mouthfuls of spit. The man didn't complain. Not when Jongho forced his way in, not when the steak knife dug into his throat because Jongho's other hand was holding his wrists behind his back. Not when Jongho started to thrust, rocking the body beneath them, surely pushing the stranger's clothed cock against the dead man's cooling flesh.

No, he didn't complain. He grunted, gasped, moaned, but did not complain.

“Harder,” he demanded, fucking himself back onto Jongho, obviously wanting it. Jongho didn't know what to make of that. He was rocking himself back and forth, thrusting into a dead body, his own leathers. “Fuck, do it _harder._”

So Jongho stuck his knife in the body beneath them, all the way up to the hilt, and grabbed the mans hair instead. Pulled it back so hard the stranger's back was a tight half-circle, they were almost looking at each other. Almost. Jongho could see that the mans mouth was open, that his tongue was on his lip.

“You fucking hold still,” he hissed. “Or I'll slice your goddamn cock right off.”

He did.

The stranger held still as Jongho hooked two fingers into his mouth and grabbed his neck with the other, grinding into him, fucking him more brutally than he'd ever done before. And the man only moaned, shook, clenched down around his cock as Jongho choked him. Jongho shoved into him, held him there as his hips snapped. As he came, hard and fast.

“You crazy fucking bastard,” he snarled, tightening his hand on the stranger's throat. “I should kill you right fucking now. Leave you here with your pants around your thighs and your little cock wet.”

“Yeah,” the man laughed, breathless. “But I got. Got an offer for you, Overlord.”

Jongho scowled at the nickname, tightened his grip.

“I need a captain killed,” he said, still rocking his hips, still grinding. “I need someone murdered and I want someone to get on his fucking ship with me and get into space.”

“Why,” Jongho hissed.

“I'm not scared of what's out there,” the man said. “I ain't scared of what the fuck's out there in the vacuum and I ain't scared of you, neither.”

“You should be.”

“You should be, too.”

In a... Truly incredible show of flexibility and speed, the stranger used the give of the body underneath himself to jerk his body around, swinging one leg up and over Jongho's head and landing on his back on the corpse, wrapping his legs _tight _on Jongho's waist and holding Jongho's own steak knife to his throat. Jongho's cock was barely slipped out of him. He was grinning like a feral cat.

“Kill this man for me,” he said, as Jongho tightened his grip on the dead man's clothes, because one of his arms was trapped by the stranger's, and his other hand was holding the wrist of the hand holding his steak knife. They were at a stalemate. Jongho had never been at a stalemate.

“Kill this man for me and I'll give you anything you fucking want.”

“Anything?”

“_Anything._ You can slaughter the crew I find, you can force your cock down my throat whenever you please, you can fuck me to death in a starport—but I'm getting the fuck off this planet. You should, too, you mad bastard.”

“I want control.”

“You've got it all.”

“I want you whenever I choose.”

“Done.”

“I want all of space on a fucking plate.”

“It's yours, Jongho,” the man said, and his voice was rough, and rasping, and beautiful. “Everything you want, it's yours. All yours.”

“Who are you,” Jongho asked, as both of them started to relax, as both of them started to truce, instead of fight.

“Kim Hongjoong,” he said, grinning. “Soon to be Captain Kim, under the rule of Overload Bosun Choi.”

How the _fuck _had he known that? Jongho hadn't spoken his last name out loud in years. Jongho squeezed Hongjoong's throat, and Hongjoong _laughed. _

“How do you think I became a crazy bastard, Bosun.” he said, his eyes wide and wild.

“I know _everything._”

And so we circle back to our Captain and his Bosun. Our Madman and his Overlord.

Jongho is let out of the Re-Gen tank not a moment too soon. It's not that he doesn't appreciate Yeosang's machine, indeed, it's the complete opposite, but he doesn't particularly enjoy being inside of it. He doesn't like being so vulnerable. He cleans off in the back shower, re-dresses in a fresh set of his own uniform leathers, and walks out of Medical with a nod to Yeosang.

He isn't surprised to see Yunho in the suspension pillar, San at his console and Seonghwa at his.

“I've got power running properly again,” Yunho says, without turning around. “We're good to warp.”

“Good. Get us the fuck out of here, Yunho. Captain's orders are Schai's Landing. Don't rush.”

“Aye sir.”

Jongho leaves without another word. Makes his way to his quarters and isn't surprised to find Captain Kim there, curled in on himself with his hands over his ears, as though that will make everything quiet. At least he's not bleeding. They've found _some _temporary solutions over the years. Limited people, drugs that dull the senses and the mind. But the most effective solution is sex. Mind-blowing sex will keep Captain Kim in blessed silence for sometimes up to two days.

So Jongho isn't surprised to find him here, in his bed, already naked. Today, Jongho doesn't bother with pretty ropework. Today, he doesn't bother with extended foreplay. Today, he ties Captain Kim to the wall with a leather belt, so tight his hands are already turning purple. Today, he fucks his Captain from behind, yanking on his hair, choking his throat. He doesn't stop. Even after Captain Kim is limp and unconscious he doesn't stop, just pulls him further from the wall to keep him up on his knees and fucks him back into consciousness. Doesn't touch his cock. Forces him so cum twice like that, listening to him pant and moan and scream in the sound-proof safety of Jongho's room. Lets him twist and writhe and beg and cum, over and over until it's dry and he's sobbing and Jongho snaps his hips into him and fills him up, just like that first time.

But time changes relationships.

Jongho unties the belt. Stays inside his Captain as he lays him down on his side, pulling one leg up over his hip so he can keep himself inside until he's soft. Lets his mad Captain be small against him, when he's always so tall, so big. Seonghwa can fuck Captain Kim all he wants. Yunho, Mingi and San, Yeosang and Wooyoung, they can all fuck Captain Kim as they please but only Jongho gets him like this. This is for him. Not even Seonghwa can see Captain Kim like this, despite knowing about Captain Kim's shimmering, drug laden blood. Not this small, this helpless, this frightened young man. Not his crying, not his shivering, not his desperate need to crawl into Jongho's skin. Perhaps someday they'll see him. Perhaps someday they'll see him like this but not today. Not soon.

Maybe someday Captain Kim will tell them that he hears them, sees them, knows them as they do not even know themselves. That Captain Kim _chose _them because he could feel them across galaxies, across planets and stars and solar systems. That their consciousnesses called out for him, and he, as a good Captain should, came to meet them. That their screams called to him and he had to follow despite the pain, _because _of the pain. Just as he'd found Jongho, just as he'd known his name, he'd found and known them all. They are _his _crew, his. Mad bastards, brute enforcers, monsters and lovers and victims. They're all his. And as they are his, he is theirs. But he was Jongho's first. It is Jongho's comfort he seeks when he can't push out the sounds of their nightmares, their fears, their loves. Because he cares so much but his mind is already broken, and he can't let it break any further.

“Jongho,” his Captain whispers. “It hurts.”

“I know,” Jongho says, though he doesn't. He can't fathom the pain. He can't imagine the depths of it.

“It will stop,” his Captain says. “I have Seen it. It will stop.”

“I await that day with my heart crossed.”

“Promise me,” his Captain says. “Promise me you will stay.”

“I will stay with you through the ends of the known stars,” Jongho murmurs into the same wild hair he's always loved pulling, stroking, smoothing. “And past them all. I swear. I promise. We all will.”

“I know,” his Captain says. There are tears on Jongho's chest. “I will love you all, then. With everything I am and will ever be.”

“I will wait for that day in eternity,” Jongho whispers, tilting his Captain's face, touching the new scar Seonghwa has left beneath the one Jongho had given him, beneath the one his better-forgotten father gave him in that last, terrible confrontation.

“Hongjoong,” Jongho says, against Captain Kim's lips, soft and shaking. “We _will_ wait for you.”

He does not reject Captain Kim's tears, his frantic kisses, his desperate hug. He cannot resist them any more than he could resist him the first time, and he doesn't want to. Jongho can't say he's eager for the day that the others learn the truth, but he's eager for the day when Captain Kim's suffering is divided into eight parts instead of one. When their pains and joys blend together, instead of staying inside themselves to rot.

Choi Jongho is Bosun to Captain Kim Hongjoong of the Horizon Line. He watches all the crew, takes care of them in his Captain's stead. Because someone has to hold Captain Kim together until that day comes.

Captain Kim once promised to give Jongho anything he wanted in exchange for the death of the man who tore his throat, and this is Jongho's desire and honor.

This is what he wants. Always.

“We'll all wait for you, my love.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELP this wasn't supposed to have a second part but here we are  
one week and 27,000 words later -_-;;;;  
this has significantly more sexy times, sorry.  
also the reveal of a character as intersex, male self-identifying.
> 
> have fun!

With Mingi gone, and Seonghwa with him, Captain Kim pulls on his mask. He moves through black shadows and metal walls, small form disappearing and reappearing at will. He'd been somewhat glad Seonghwa had been found on _this _station, because it affords him the opportunity to avoid making another stop before they head back out into deep space.

That's not to say it's a stop he wants to make.

Captain Kim hates stopping here. Hates sliding into this back-narrow hole in the wall, hates that by the time he gets there he's staggering, coughing, _bleeding. _

“Aah,” says the man who owns the hole in the wall. “I see you found him.”

“I've your damned drugs,” Captain Kim spits, vocally and then literally, after pulling his mask down. His blood and saliva are a smear of shining fire on the metal floor.

“I should hope so,” the man says. “It's been months. I'm running low on stock.”

“Beggars can't be choosers.”

The man grabs Captain Kim by the jaw, drags him up close to his face. Captain Kim isn't frightened of anything, but this man knows too much, and Captain Kim needs to indulge him if he wants their... Mutually beneficial arrangement to continue.

“I'm not the beggar here, Kim Hongjoong,” he says, hisses, really. He's a bit like San, but not the same. “It will serve you well to remember that. _You _are indebted to _me._”

Simply as that, Captain Kim is cut down to scrawny little Kim Hongjoong, swab on his father's ship, hated and small and desperate. But he'd been forced to wait, to wait, wait wait so of course, by the time he'd found his first shipmate, found the source of the wild, wild laughter in his mind, he was nearly ruined. This man had been the one to tell him how to listen for them. This man had been the one to tell him how Ambrosia was made. How he could run the entire ship himself and keep it in the air with as little outward help or interference as possible.

This man had saved Kim Hongjoong, and now Captain Kim has no real choice but to do as he's commanded. He is only a Captain under the fist of an Admiral.

“Come then,” the man says, letting go of Kim Hongjoong's jaw. He leads Captain Kim to a room with a mechanical setup much like the one in the Captain's own quarters. More sophisticated, because he makes _grades _of Ambrosia, but still. Very similar. Captain Kim removes his magnificent coat, but stays in his long sleeves and vest. He rolls the sleeves up his arms.

“As I was saying,” the man says, shoving Captain Kim down into a chair, reclining it smoothly with a shove of his hand against one small shoulder. “I see you found him. Your last, I believe.”

“Yes,” Captain Kim chokes out.

“He's a monster.”

“I adore him completely.”

“Of course you do. You love all the freaks in your menagerie, don't you. Do you think they'll love you too, once they find out what you are?” The man sounds amused, and Captain Kim grits his teeth as he is strapped into the chair to avoid getting away. Opens his mouth to accept the drug that will make his body produce more blood than he should have. He's never asked how the man makes it, he doesn't want to know. He doesn't want to know how many others of his kind there are, how many this man tortures and bleeds.

The machines strapped to his inner elbows are made of suction cups and tubes. The ones about his throat are the same, one on each side of his neck. His forehead and lower neck are strapped down. Captain Kim counts the seconds until this is over, opens his mouth for the leather and metal bit that keeps him from slicing his own tongue as he is punctured. With sharp, triangular little blades he is stabbed one time in four places, right through the arteries and veins. The suction cups are put back into place one at a time. Then: the pain.

Captain Kim digs his teeth into the bit, fights down any sound for as long as is possible, which isn't as long as he wants it to be. The machine sucks at his neck and arms like a child sucks at a teat. Captain Kim strains and tenses, claws his hands and arches his back and finally screams.

The man pets Captain Kim's hair as he sweats, when he fights and when he collapses into exhaustion, weak and trembling like a little child. Captain Kim is panting for air, unable to fill his lungs, when the last bit is sucked away, leaving him with just enough to stay alive. Only enough. With the drug he'd been given stimulating his blood production, the tank holding it is full and then some.

“More than usual, mm?” the man asks. Captain Kim gasps, heaving and wordless.

“Must be that last crew member. Good. You've been low since the last one.”

The man unbuckles Captain Kim from the chair and gives his wounds a quick clean-and-dressing. He pulls the bit from Captain Kim's mouth. Shoves him unceremoniously to the ground, on his knees and then on his back. Captain Kim doesn't know how long it's been since he was put in the chair. He watches, unable to speak, as the man rifles through his bag and pulls out the containers of Ambrosia sitting in it.

“You've been using the machines I gave you. Good. You'll be able to spend less time here.”

Captain Kim's head lolls back and forth, his eyes seeing double, his mouth barely open.

“Oh do get up,” the man says, rolling his eyes as Captain Kim struggles to get up onto his hands, and then onto his knees. He moves very slowly. The man grabs him by the vest and shirt lapel and throws him to a flat bunk at the side of the room. “You're pathetic. Your father was never this pathetic.”

Captain Kim bares his teeth and tries to force himself up but can't. The man chuckles.

“Aah, nothing like sweet old anger to get your blood pumping. Good. I don't need you lingering.” The man throws a bag at Captain Kim, who cannot catch it. It lands near his limp fingers. “Your payment. I don't have time to babysit you until you recover, so I'll be taking my leave.”

A door slams. When Captain Kim is left alone, shimmering tears like diluted liquid fire finally slide from the outer corners of his eyes to his hairline. He feels helpless, and very alone. Even though he can distantly feel his crew, can hear them, it's not enough. As much as it pains him to be near them, it hurts worse to be distant. That's how Captain Kim had finally managed to overpower, overwhelm, overthrow his father. Despite the ugly fight—including the scar that ran just too high and close to the jaw to kill him—it was his father's stubbornness in refusing his rightful crew that made him weak enough to be killed.

Captain Kim has never refused his crew. He needs them. They need him. They exist together, all of them, and he just needs to make it through the agony. There is a light at the other end of his suffering, he knows this, he has Seen it in his dreams and his waking life when his mind falls away and leaves only his instincts.

But for now, the pain races through him. Makes him bleed, and there's nothing he can do about it except meet this monster in every port of call, because he is everywhere. No matter where Captain Kim goes there is a door that leads to this man.

He cannot wait for the day he can finally pass it by.

The day our Captain finds our Seonghwa is the beginning of the end. It all starts with our Yeosang and our Captain.

Captain Kim adores his crew. Fights for them, kills for them. He can feel their pain, their fear and panic and desperation. Which is why he is here in Medical, holding Yeosang back from leaving the ship.

“But Wooyoung—” he's saying, through his shameless tears. “Please_, _Captain, I—”

“You are staying right here,” Captain Kim says, gritting his teeth behind his lips at the sheer bulk of the despair that weighs on Yeosang's body like a great stone, crushing him.

“No,” he whimpers, shaking his head, trying again to get past Captain Kim who holds him in a superior grip. Yeosang isn't very strong unless he's performing his talents. “No, no Captain Kim _please—_” it breaks off into a strangled sob.

His begging is pathetic and heartbreaking. Captain Kim takes deep, slow breaths. He has to hold himself together. He has to, for Yeosang. For Yeosang, who hasn't been separated from Wooyoung since they'd boarded the Horizon Line together all those years ago. It feels like an eternity in the past. For Yeosang, every minute Wooyoung is gone is torture, fear, pain. He worries enough when he's gone for only an hour or two, but it's been _nine._

“You're staying here,” Captain Kim hisses, hating how Yeosang is collapsing, folding in on himself like a withering flower. There is nothing so painful to him as watching them be helpless. To see any of them in an inconsolable state. But Captain Kim can't leave the ship in this port—too many warrants out for his arrest—and Wooyoung had gone to purchase parts alone, _again, _a cardinal sin among the Horizon Line's crew. Mingi, Seonghwa and Yunho are already spread out looking for him. Jongho is monitoring the loading bay, in case he comes back. San is listening, watching, waiting for someone or something to whisper over a communications line to tell him where Wooyoung is, but it had been hours, and then nearly a full day, far longer than he should have been gone, and Yeosang...

Yeosang is not as strong as the rest of them, through no fault of his own. Yeosang is a Healer. They are naturally weaker, more susceptible to both physical and emotional agonies. Normally they are discovered young and taken away to be trained, made into obedient slaves who can tolerate most pains. Yeosang had been born, had grown up in the narrows of Aldorna, always filthy so no one had been able to see that distinct white-blonde hair. He'd simply been regarded as sickly for his paleness and his skinny frame.

Right now, Yeosang is very, very weak. His hands that had been pushing against Captain Kim are now fisted in Captain Kim's coat. Yeosang's head rests on Captain Kim's shoulder, his face in Captain Kim's neck. Captain Kim smoothes his hair.

“He'll be all right, Yeosang,” Captain Kim says. He knows he's right, but that won't comfort Yeosang now. He's too distraught, everything will sound like a lie, and Captain Kim's mind is feeding on Yeosang's agony. Captain Kim pulls Yeosang to his feet. Leads him to the back of Medical despite his protesting sobs. Lays him down in his nest beneath his hanging fabric and bells. Starts to pull away Yeosang's clothes and continues when Yeosang nods, still crying, desperate for any kind of comfort.

Normally, it would be Wooyoung here. If not Wooyoung, then San or Yunho. Even Seonghwa or Mingi or Jongho, on occasion. But Captain Kim has never been here, between Yeosang's open thighs. Has never run a smooth, cool hand from Yeosang's neck to his groin.

“Shh,” he urges, pulling away his own clothes, feeling his mind touching Yeosang's, even if Yeosang can't feel the same. Feels the way Yeosang is willing to give in to him because he is his Captain, but moreso because Yeosang respects and likes him, because in this moment he will do anything to not feel what he's feeling.

“That's it, Starboy,” Captain Kim says, taking the bottle of lubricant Yeosang offers him, his eyes still wet with tears, his throat still hiccuping. Captain Kim strokes Yeosang first, grinning, showing all his teeth. “That's it.” He strokes until Yeosang is hard, thighs shaking. He's so high on adrenaline that it doesn't take long.

“You can take me, can't you, Starboy,” Captain Kim says, almost a whisper as he slides fingers against Yeosang and then over himself. “You don't even need me to get you ready, do you. You're always the one taking it.” Yeosang writhes. Captain Kim knows exactly what to do and say to make Yeosang forget himself, forget his worry and pain and fear. Just like he knows the rest of them.

“Arms on my neck, Starboy,” Captain Kim says. “And you will look at me when you take me in. I want to watch you.” Yeosang nods, frantic, and reaches to wrap his arms around Captain Kim's neck. His thighs are up and out, and Captain Kim positions himself, gives himself a small nudge to determine the angle, then presses on Yeosang's inner thighs and pushes.

Yeosang turns his head and Captain Kim grabs him by the jaw.

“I said look at me,” he says. “You will _look at me _when I take you, Yeosang.”

Yeosang looks at him. Yeosang obeys and looks at Captain Kim through his white-blonde hair. He barely blinks, and practically screams when the Captain is seated inside him, thighs shaking, arms tightening as he drips wetly onto his belly.

“That's good,” Captain Kim says, grabbing at the safety bar above Yeosang's head, holding on to it with one hand, grabbing Yeosang's hair in the other. He fists his hand tightly and keeps Yeosang's eyes on him. “That's good, Starboy, look at me. Look at your Captain when he fucks you. You've been wanting it, haven't you? Yes,” Captain Kim says, because he knows it's true.

“You're the only one who hasn't been with me, been with your Captain. The only one he hasn't _fucked,_” Captain Kim punctuates with a thrust. Yeosang doesn't blink. “Were you jealous, Yeosang? Tell me the truth.” Captain Kim pushes forward, uses the leverage of the bar to bring his face so close to Yeosang's that they are sharing breath.

“The truth_. Now._”

It takes a panting second. Captain Kim jerks his arm, thrusts hard, yanks on Yeosang's hair.

“Yes—” Yeosang says, voice cut off by a truly beautiful moan. One of his arms has moved from Captain Kim's neck to under his shoulder, Yeosang's hand open and shaking on his back. “Yes, Captain—”

“You've thought about it,” Captain Kim says, staying close, rolling his hips, staring down at Yeosang as Yeosang stares up at him, immobile by his own choice. “Thought about how it would feel if your Captain fucked you senseless, until you're screaming._” _

Captain Kim thrusts hard and fast and Yeosang's mouth drops open, his thighs wider, his back curving up. Captain Kim's hand moves from Yeosang's hair to the small of his back, lifting him ever so slightly from the bed.

“You're thought about what it would feel like for your Captain to fuck you slow, deep and hard, looking into you as he always does, because he _sees _you.” Captain Kim moves to hold the bar in both hands, leveling himself and cradling Yeosang's backside on his hips. “And I do _see you, _Yeosang. Every little fear and flaw and _want._”

Captain Kim fucks Yeosang slow, and deep, and hard. Yeosang stares up at him, panting, making the most beautiful sounds. Soft exclamations of awe, little moans, tiny breaths of _please _and _captain. _He's so soft. It's part of what Captain Kim loves about him. He loves that Yeosang's soft insanities are linked directly to his affections, to how much he desperately cares about the rest of the crew. How much it hurts him to be left behind while the others search for his very first love. How he adores that his Captain is touching him like this, after years of not touching him like this.

_kiss me, _Thinks Yeosang, in desperate need, in words that aren't really words but feelings. _kiss me kiss me kiss me._

So Captain Kim puts his arms under Yeosang's shoulders, holds the top of them to keep their bodies together, and kisses him. Warm and wet and deep, Yeosang gives everything to his Captain because he loves his Captain as much as he loves all of them and finally, finally he can show it, can show it with his body and his heart bared in his chest, exposed as though his ribcage is ripped in half.

“That's it, Yeosang,” Captain Kim breathes between slides of tongue and lips. His hands slide into Yeosang's hair and hold it gently, so gently.

“Show me how much you love me.”

Yeosang gives a strangled cry, clinging tight and whimpering in Captain Kim's ear.

“I love you,” he weeps, holding on, fingers in his Captain's hair, lips pressing kisses all over warm, sweaty skin. “Captain, oh st-stars, Captain, I—” he interrupts himself for more kisses. Captain Kim easily turns them, so he is on his back and Yeosang is on top of him. He still clings, still rocks, his mind and soul blessedly silent. Captain Kim holds Yeosang there, doesn't stop him from collapsing in physical exhaustion and relief. He still cries, but not out of fear, or pain.

“Tell me again,” he begs, trembling.

“He'll be all right, Yeosang,” Captain Kim murmurs, kissing at his ear. “I promise you on every star in the sky that he _will _come back, and he _will _be fine.”

Yeosang nods, shakes, falls asleep out of sheer unconscious need. Captain Kim doesn't bother putting him back into his uniform. Just lays him in the nest and covers him with a blanket, feeling... Soft, and fragile, which is part of why he's never slept with Yeosang. It makes him feel... Vulnerable, just as he was afraid it would. And while Seonghwa bled him out not two weeks ago, he can already feel the blood boiling in his veins. He makes it to his rooms to bleed himself without alerting San—alerting San would be just as bad as alerting Yeosang had been, and he doesn't want that. Can't _have _that, right now. Not when he feels as strange and fragile as Yeosang always does.

He knows that Wooyoung be back soon. He knows that Wooyoung will be fine. But how long _soon _is, he can't tell. Captain Kim can't See that far.

(When Wooyoung _does _return, after a few more hours. He gets a beating with a switch like a child, humiliated in front of the rest of the crew, save Yeosang: who is waiting down in medical to soothe all his little welts, though he is very, very cross, indeed.)

But this is not the only time when our Yeosang and our Captain lay together over our Wooyoung's foolishness. There are better times, for all involved.

If Wooyoung had stopped to think about it for literally fifteen seconds, he wouldn't have left the ship. But he hadn't needed many parts! And the shops were less than a ten minute walk away! And everyone else was _busy _and he didn't want to _wait. _

What Wooyoung hadn't thought about, exactly, was how he was going to get in and out of a shop without 1, being spotted by _someone _who wanted his head on a plate, 2, someone who had a grudge against his crew in particular for no reason or 3, just how fucking stupid it was to wander around a space station by his goddamn self like Captain Kim _always told him _not to do. He'd even warned Wooyoung not twenty minutes before he left the Horizon Line!

_Don't get into any trouble, Junkyard. And take someone with you, if you go._

But everyone else had been _busy. _And he wanted to get the parts as soon as possible because he didn't want the ideas to slip through his fingers like so much sand! There were too many of them, and they could only get some of the more exotic parts in places that had an active black market!

So, of course, Wooyoung got caught. By someone who had a grudge against his crew in particular for no reason. Well. Maybe they had a reason, but Wooyoung didn't care what it was, because it was probably arbitrary and had nothing to actually do with them at all.

That didn't stop them from beating the shit out of him, though.

Wooyoung was pretty tough. He could handle himself in a fight. Maybe not as well as Jongho, but no one fought as well as Jongho. Jongho fought like if someone landed a hit on him, he'd die. Wooyoung, on the other hand, usually just tried to get the fuck away.

But there was only so much he could do against five guys with weapons, and that left him where he was: on the metal floor, panting, bleeding from his nose and mouth and the nasty lacerations all over him. Yeosang was gonna have a _fit _when he got back. That was gonna suck. Especially since it would happen directly after the reaming Captain Kim was going to give him.

“Hey asshole,” Wooyoung said, turning onto his back. “You think you can finish this up? I got shit to do.”

A boot to the belly made Wooyoung cough up another mouthful of blood. God damnit.

“You tell us where to find Song Mingi,” another kick. “And we'll finish up just fine.”

“No idea who you're talking about, man,” Wooyoung said, spitting blood and trying to sit up. Stars and all the Saints above, he'd _just _gotten his ribcage put back together four weeks ago, and now these chuckleheads were gonna break it again.

“You know _damn well _who we're talking about.”

One of the bruisers grabbed Wooyoung by the jacket and lifted him up. Mistake number one.

“We know that crazy fuck is on your crew,”

He pulled Wooyoung in closer to him. Mistake number two.

“And that traitor's gonna get a lot more than the beating we're gonna give you if you don't tell us where he is.”

He threatened a member of Wooyoung's family. Mistake number three.

How did that old terran saying go, the one the old man at the junkyard used all the time?

_Three strikes, you're out._

Wooyoung's head slammed forward, breaking the man's nose. He grabbed his lapel and jerked his weight around, kicking the man on the back, landing him into his closest buddy on the right. Wooyoung yanked both guns out of his holsters and held them, using his left arm to pistolwhip the closest guy on the left. He threw the gun in his right hand to the last man on the left and stepped on the body of the pistol-whipped guy to hold the barrel of his gun right up against the fifth guy's jaw while his free hand yanked his hair. Coward had been turned to run away.

“Now, listen carefully, motherfucker, because I'm only gonna say this _once._” He drew back the hammer on the pistol. “If you try to come for me, or _any of my crew _again, I'll make sure you get a lot more than a bruised ego and a fucking headache, do you understand me?”

The man didn't move. Wooyoung pressed the gun up higher. Pulled the mans head back tighter, exposing his throat, making him wheeze for air.

“I said, _do you understand me?_” Wooyoung's voice was an animal growl, savage and wild and low. The guy nodded frantically, hands up, and Wooyoung nodded. “That's good,” he said, his wide eyes getting even wider and shining, as though he were taking in the entire scene, seeing all of it, seeing _into _it. He struck the man against the side of the head with the butt of the pistol, and took a few deep, slow breaths before blinking a few times and shaking his head to clear it.

He went around to all the men, gathered up their weapons just for kicks—their crew could always use more weapons, whether for tinkering or for use—and raided their pockets for money or useful odds and ends while he was at it. He put them all into his side bag, abandoned at the front of the alley, and wiped off his hands on the black fabric of his duster. At least they hadn't fucked up his face.

He was just stepping out of the alley when he noticed Seonghwa standing there, arms crossed, one leg kicked back against the wall.

“I see you handled it,” Seonghwa said, unable to resist smirking.

“Of course I did, oh ye of little faith,” Wooyoung replied.

“You're pretty beat up.”

“Eeeh,” Wooyoung shrugged. “It'll be fine.”

“Let me clean you up,” Seonghwa said, pushing Wooyoung back a little ways, into a shadow, where they both disappeared into his darkness. Wooyoung laughed, groaned as Seonghwa's second skin smoothed over him, cleaning away the blood, smoothing the scars, but not without torturing them a little first.

“Stars above,” Wooyoung panted, laughing under his breath at Seonghwa's... Typical reaction to violence. “You wanna fuck right here?”

“If you're offering.” Seonghwa purred in his ear. “You've been gone for three hours. I'll make sure no on finds out about you getting yourself in trouble.”

That would save Wooyoung a huge headache later. Good plan.

“Yeah,” he laughed, knowing he didn't have to do anything more than stand there, anyway. Seonghwa's ghostskin—as he called it—could move independently of his physical body. So it could absolutely slide down the back of Wooyoung's leathers, could absolutely push into him while Seonghwa's actual body just stayed in front and covered him, while Seonghwa smothered him with kisses, pushing an elongated tongue into his mouth. His shadows could work into Wooyoung's pants and suck him off, and all Wooyoung had to do was hold still.

“Fuck,” he breathed, his fingers clawing in the front of Seonghwa's shirt as he tipped his head to offer his neck. “Oh _fuck _I love it when you do that, twisted bastard.”

“You're lucky I don't put you on your knees,” Seonghwa replied, fisting a hand up in Wooyoung's hair. “Stuff your troublesome little body from both ends. But I do so _love _your breed of violence, Wooyoung. You always put on such a good show.”

Wooyoung groaned, putting a hand to his mouth to cover the noise as much as he could because even if they couldn't be seen, they could definitely be heard. He felt Seonghwa widen inside of him, get longer. Fill him up, all the way up, not a solid shape but a malleable one, taking whatever form it needed to fuck Wooyoung as brutally as he could when they had a possible audience if Wooyoung couldn't keep his fucking mouth shut.

Seonghwa fucked him against the wall, in the dark, pinning him. He hummed in pleasure when Wooyoung squeezed around him, when his shadows sucked down Wooyoung's cum like it was swallowing. It smoothed away all the sweat and cum and dirt. Seonghwa kissed Wooyoung breathless as he moved away, smirking.

“Your secret's safe with me.”

“Gee, thanks,” Wooyoung panted, breathless. He shivered and laughed as he walked toward the shops proper with Seonghwa on his heels—high on the sex and the violence and the adrenaline.

But, as with all things, there are worse times.

Wooyoung has been gone for five days.

San grits his sharp teeth.

He calls them back, calls the crew back. Doesn't bother calling down to Medical, where Captain Kim always goes when Wooyoung manages to do something stupid and disappear for too long. Captain Kim will try to stop San. San will not be stopped.

“Did you find him?” Yunho asks, breathless as he runs into the bridge, and San shakes his head.

“Not exactly. But I've got a good idea of where he is. I'm gonna go, you guys need to stay here.”

“_San—_”

“Where I'm going, all of you'll stick out like nuns in a whorehouse,” San says. His voice is as hard as he can make it because it's truer than any of them could _hope _to understand. He jerks his bag—the one he always keeps for moments like this—out from under the console. “Stay on the fucking ship. I have my comms, I'll call if I need you.” He presses against the skin behind and just below his ear, where he'd once had a communications chip embedded directly into his audio nerves and receptors. It sends out a distress call with his location if he presses down on it hard enough. “I'll call.”

San is heading out the bay doors when Jongho grabs him by the arm, not hard enough to bruise.

“Be careful,” he says, in his low, serious tone.

“I'll try.”

San gets off the Horizon Line, as he so rarely does, and moves into the streets. He slips between the walls of an alley too narrow for most people to get through. San is not 'most people.' He flexes and twists and wriggles into a safe, abandoned space full of dust and changes his clothes into something more destitute—ragged and threadbare and ripped at the hems, old clothes he hasn't worn in years. The clothes he wears in his usual jobs are much nicer than these.

He takes out the contacts he still insists on wearing, even though he doesn't hide anything else about his appearance on the ship. He blinks, blinks blinks until his black scleras and pink irises have adjusted to the light, his slit pupils narrow. He shakes his dark-and-pink hair out of the braids that run along his head and lets it fall, shaggy and pretty, around his face. He shoves everything back into the backpack he brought with him. He leaves it, and wiggles back out into the alley he'd come from, and starts walking.

It doesn't take long.

San gasps in faux surprise as he's grabbed practically right off the street. No one says anything, he doesn't even think they notice. No one notices invisible people in places like this. He blinks up at his captor, wide-eyed and already teary, making a soft, frightened noise against his hand.

“Aren't you pretty,” the 'man' says. He's... Big. Big and scary, if San is honest. He's never been the type to get into actual confrontations. He's usually running away from them. But Wooyoung has been gone for _days, _and Yeosang is _inconsolable, _and everyone is so fucking worried and San...

San knows what he's doing. Even if he hates it.

“Don't have anywhere to go, precious?”

San doesn't move, doesn't confirm or deny.

“Thought not. Pretty thing like you, out here all along and dressed like _that?_” San closes his eyes as his captor draws him in closer. “I have a perfect place for you.”

San whimpers and struggles very little, but doesn't have to fake the unhappy tears what he's back here, again, and not entirely on his own terms. It's one thing to hide in a sea of beautiful faces because he chooses to. It's another thing entirely to be tied to an anchor in a sea of beautiful faces, trapped and drowning.

But he's so sure Wooyoung is here. Wooyoung shouldn't be here, none of them should be here. So as soon as he finds Wooyoung, he's getting them the fuck out of here, and killing everyone on his way out, if he can. Starting with the thing 'checking him in.' He'd started by taping San's mouth shut. His hands are rough and roaming. He strips San naked and shoves him down, spreads his legs to the point of joints popping, heedless of San's muffled screaming.

“Oh,” he grins, and it's cruel and terrible and San squeezes his eyes closed. “Oh, I see. Well aren't you a special one?” His big hand grabs at San's groin. San winces, makes a piteous sound in his throat. The thing pushes San's further wide open, exposes him completely. His smallish cock, a little high on his pelvis, his nearly non-existent gonads and, most damning of all, the little swells of flesh just behind, hiding his vagina from immediate view. It's humiliating. San doesn't have to pretend to cry. He didn't ask to be born like this, as some people with his bloodline have been. He didn't ask for his body to be this way and while it had served him well for many years, he doesn't want to be used on terms other than his own. Never again. He and Captain Kim had promised one another: never again.

He thrashes and whimpers and struggles—arms tied up tight behind him from forearm to wrist. The thing puts his legs down and San tries to curl in on himself.

“Clean him up. Put him in with the other newbloods,” the thing says. “We'll have him ready in a few days time, when we put them all through.”

So San is bullied through a corridor. The tape is ripped off his mouth. He's sprayed down with lukewarm water, sprayed with soap, sprayed with water again. He's pushed through a dryer that makes him so hot he thinks he might pass out, and stumbles into a man who undoes the ropes on his arms and puts him in a scrub uniform and a pair of leather cuffs, then leads him by the hair to a closed metal room. San can hear the sounds of frightened people.

He's thrown in. Tumbles over himself and lands on his side after striking his head on the floor. For a moment he's too dizzy to see properly. He hears his comms device go off—hears Captain Kim's snarling voice in his mind.

_I'm going to fucking flay you myself when you get back here, Choi San._

San wants to laugh, but can't. He tries to sit up and his head is spinning so much he might vomit. Then, blessedly, thank the stars he's so fucking lucky, he hears Wooyoung's voice. His shivering, high-tone voice.

“San,” his voice is wet, and frightened. “San, San are you okay? San?”

San turns to rest on his back. He feels Wooyoung use his legs and shoulders to push San up so they can lean against one another.

“_San,_” Wooyoung whimpers, terrified, and San blinks his eyes open, his head resting on Wooyoung's shoulder. Wooyoung stares at him, trembling a little.

“Found you,” San says, his voice a soft grind. “You sh. Should be more careful, Wooyoung. Yeo... Yeosang's a mess.”

“Stars and all the saints above, San,” Wooyoung hisses, hooking his chin on San's shoulder and bending over him, as though trying to protect him from anything in here. As though San needs protecting. San tips his head into Wooyoung's neck.

“M'fine,” he says. “M'fine. Just tired. S'okay. Know what I'm doing.”

He does. He really, really does.

San makes a nuisance of himself, despite Wooyoung's protests. He hits the walls, kicks them, screams until they come in and threaten him. He's too pretty to hurt and he knows that, but he lets them get comfortable. Lets them get used to coming in here and grabbing him, lets them get used to only needing one person to subdue him. Gets used to what they do to subdue him.

“Listen,” he finally says, after nearly six days of this, six days of frantic calls through his mind that make him want to cry because he can't communicate that he's found Wooyoung, because the crew _absolutely _cannot find him here. Can _not _find him like this. Especially not Captain Kim.

“Listen,” he says again. “I'm going to get us out of here today. All of us,” he says a little louder, making sure that the others in the room can hear him. “There are no cameras in the stairwell to the left. As soon as the door opens up, I'll come with keys. You all run down there. There's an alcove—stop there, get your chains undone, and get out.”

“But what about y—”

“There's only so much I can do with you all here,” he says, cutting off a blue-skinned woman. “Once you're gone I'll clean house.”

“San,” Wooyoung hisses.

“Your job is to get them somewhere safe,” San says, turning his black and pink eyes on Wooyoung, who hesitates. San had known he would, so he makes the words into a mission, a command. “I mean it, Wooyoung. Get them someplace _safe._”

It takes a moment, but Wooyoung nods, accepting the plan. So San waits. He kicks at the door and screams and gets dragged out. San waits, and when the big man has him in the hallway and out of sight, he bites into his hand. He gets slapped for it, all but thrown into the torture chamber they lock him in when he misbehaves, but San's venom is both a neurotoxin and a hemotoxin, and nearly impossible to detect physically until around the time of death. San's teeth are sharp enough to leave very small wounds.

The big man is on the floor, unconscious, after four seconds. He'll die in fifteen minutes. San does not care.

He uses his body, flexes his arms, pops his shoulders out of joint to get his legs through his arms. He grabs for the mans keys. He can't unlock his own cuffs, so he closes the door to the torture chamber very, very quietly and runs back to the room, picking out the big black key he knows is for the door. He opens it. Wooyoung is already there.

“Get these off me,” San says, his eyes wide and bright. Wooyoung stares at him, _into _him, and nods, wrestling the lock, uncuffing San. “Take them, Get them downstairs, get the cuffs off and _run, _Wooyoung, do you understand? Get them anywhere, a church, preferably. There's one down the block with a back entrance. Ask a priest for sanctuary. Do _not _stay here, and do _not _come back.”

“But what if you nee—”

“Wooyoung. I swear to you that I can do this myself. I'll be back at the ship in four hours, maximum. If I'm not there by then—” San takes a breath, lets it out in a laughing, devastated sigh. “Then I'm probably dead and you all need to leave before someone finds out what I've done.”

Wooyoung's eyes narrow but he nods, jerkingly. Wooyoung lets San get his cuffs off and waves to the rest of the people in the room. Turns back to San and presses the softest of kisses to the corner of his mouth, runs the fingers of both hands though his hair to press their foreheads together.

“Come back, San.” his voice is a despaired whisper. He doesn't want to leave San here. San doesn't want to let Wooyoung leave without him. But this is the right thing to do. The only thing he _can _do.

“I'll try.” He watches Wooyoung lead them—all those terrified people—out and down the staircase. Then, arms free and body nude, San moves back into the hallways. San can bite twelve to fifteen times per target, if he chooses. He has enough venom for eight targets stored in the sacs that move down his throat just beside his arteries and veins, along his spine. It's just a matter of speed and silence. It's just a matter of patience, and cleverness.

San _is _clever.

Clever enough to free people floor by floor, instead of all at once. Clever enough to cover the cameras he finds with rips of cloth stolen from the corpses of his captors on the previous floor, or... Soon to be corpses, really. San is clever, but desperate enough, falling back far enough into his mind to let himself rub on their necks, their mouths. He laughs and moans with how _good _it feels to kill them, an orgasm every floor, fucking against a throat or an arm or a bare shoulder, gasping and groaning, rubbing his tongue over his teeth and grinning, giggling like a little boy who got away with not only the treats in the jar, but all the treats in the kitchen as he cums all over their dying bodies. It feels so, _so _good. He never gets to play like this anymore. He never gets to have any fun. Captain Kim is so _mean_.

San is shaking with adrenaline by the time he gets to the last room, unlocks it, tells the gaunt man trapped inside where to go, how to get to the church like he's told the rest of them. When the man is in the stairwell San feels a presence behind him and starts to turn. Gets a blade in the neck as a reward. It's sharp, very sharp. Very short. It doesn't pierce his artery completely. San is grabbed by the hair by the biggest man he's seen so far. Bigger than Mingi and Yunho, even. San is dragged up that big body, not bothering to struggle—just trying to keep his hair from getting ripped out at the root with one hand on his assaulter's wrist and the other braced on his chest.

“You've been a right pain in my side, girl,” the man says, and San's nostrils flare. No one gets to call him _girl _unless they've slept with him, and even then very few men have earned that privilege. “Do you know how long it's going to take me to gather up all those whores?”

“I don't care,” San rasps out, and winces as he's hit back to the wall, head striking the metal hard enough for the sound to echo down the hallway.

“I think you'll make a fine first addition,” the man says. “Such a pretty girl, I've heard all about you. Bratty, disobedient. Yes,” the man says, and pulls his fingers away from San's skin, perhaps intending to bleed him out until he's too weak to fight. “Yes I think you'll do just fine.”

The man licks the wound. Perhaps to disturb San, but all San can do is _laugh _because the knife—the knife has punctured part of his artery, but it's also pierced part of his venom sac, and he's losing neurotoxin and hemotoxin just as fast as he's losing blood and this fucking idiot just _digested _it. It'll take a little longer to work that way, since it's not going directly into the bloodstream, but it doesn't have to. It'll still do its job.

San laughs and laughs and laughs, even as the man tightens the grip on his neck and slams him into the wall, over and over—as he throws San against the opposite wall, gets San's blood and venom all over the floor and ceiling, and through the blood in his mouth San laughs, and smiles, and sticks out his tongue. Lets it flicker and swat.

“Do you know, do you know what my Captain calls me?” he asks, breathless as the man starts to lose energy, collapsing to his knees. San gets up slowly from the floor, cups the sides of his captor's face like a tender lover.

“He calls me _Teeth,_” he says, grinning brightly, brilliantly, the smile he gives when he's so happy he might burst. He is so, so happy. Insanely happy. Perhaps just insane.

“Because, because you see? I use my teeth to kill people like you, but I didn't even have to bite you, because you're a fucking idiot, and you poisoned yourself. Enjoy your life, sir,” San says, biting into the man's tongue and pumping him full of enough venom to kill three men just because he can. San cocks his head to the side, still giggling, still smiling.

“What's left of it.” A pause, as the man gurgles.

“Oh? What was that?” San moves, crouches, looks down at the big man. “Well... I mean, I'd fuck your cock, if you had any blood in it,” he shrugged. “But since I kind of just... Um. Destroyed all your nerve endings, and the tissue between your nerves and your brain, what little there is of that—and, and thinned your blood to the point where you'll be bleeding from your ugly little eyeballs in a minute, I doubt you'll be able to get hard. But, I mean...” San grins, biting into his bottom lip with his pretty little teeth. Wraps an easily ripped piece of the man's leather duster tightly around his neck, too pleased with the possibility to think about how much he's bleeding.

“I mean, there's always your mouth.”

San gets down on his knees. Grabs the man by the hair, and lowers himself against the man's mouth, which is closed. He rubs himself there, staring down at the man as he shivers, unable to move, unable to stop San as he rocks against his lips, his cock against his nose.

“Mm,” San tips his head back, laughs to the ceiling, thrusting harder. He stares down at the man he's murdering and grins, laughing brightly. “Fuck that feels good. Your pretty fucking mouth all up in my cunt. Fuck, I'm gonna cum, I'm—mm—”

San stares, unblinking, down at the man, the pimp, under his body as he gives a little gush of wetness, as his cock gives a little spit of cum. All he has left, really. He smiles and giggles, using the tip of his cock to smear cum on the mans ugly face.

“Thanks for the ride, girl,” San says, pushing himself up onto his quivering legs. He's a little dizzy. More than a little. He manages to get into the last room. Gathers up clothes, mourns the loss of his uniform, and yanks on thin layers of lace, gauzy cloth, anything to cover himself as much as possible. He yanks on a pair of pants that luckily fit him just fine, and then San runs, runs runs like a wild thing, right through the open window at the end of the hall, staggering as he lands on a roof. He runs past the church, down all the roofs and alleys when he has to, leaping over people, one hand holding his neck and the leather against it because he's still bleeding out but he has to get to the ship, it must be almost time, he has to get there, has to run, has to reach Captain Kim, has to come back because he promised he'd try, he'd promised—

San _throws _himself through the closing loading bay door. He leaps at an impossible angle, twists to fit his body through the space. He slams into the metal floor, rolling into the back wall and he doesn't care how much pain he's in, he doesn't care, because he made it he made it he made it—

“Seonghwa!” Jongho is shouting, screaming really. San looks up at him, turning his head back and forth madly, squirming, writhing. He can't poison himself, but Jongho is too close, too close, and he pushes him, or tries to, shaking his head. He can barely talk around the blood in his mouth, spitting out every time he tries to take a gasping breath, breathe or speak around the way his throat is convulsing opened and closed, the way his two small hearts are struggling to pump.

“ven,” he pants, hand still on his neck, desperate to hold it all in, terrified of hurting Jongho. “veno—nom—”

Captain Kim fills his vision. Captain Kim is staring down at him, holding his head, holding his hand on San's neck.

“ca,” he manages, his eyesight blurring even worse now. “cap—ve—”

“I know,” Captain Kim hisses, and San feels something cool along his throat. Seonghwa? Seonghwa's shadows. But what if it hurts him, what if it—

“He'll be fine,” Captain Kim says, and San believes him, he has to believe him. He's so cold. He's so cold, and he can't feel... Anything, and he just stares up into Captain Kim's beautiful, beautiful face and wishes he could kiss him—wishes he could tell him he kept his promise, that he made it like he always does: by the very skin of his pretty teeth.

But he can't.

San surrenders to the dark and the cold. The only warmth is Captain Kim's hand on his neck, so he tilts himself into it, eyes dropping shut.

Thus, our Captain and our San move closer. Closer now, closer still, to the light at the end of the darkness.

“Have his eyes always looked like that?” Mingi asked, looking at San, laid out on a bed in Medical with Captain Kim standing at his head, opposite Mingi. San's eyes were a little open, and Captain Kim could see the black and pink of them, instead of the brown and white he was accustomed to.

“Yes,” Captain Kim said. “He prefers to wear contacts on board.”

“Don't see why,” Mingi said, smoothing a hand over San's loose, dark hair. Captain Kim watched him. He hadn't seen San's hair down since he'd first brought him aboard. He hadn't seen him dress so casually, either, before Yeosang put him in scrubs, anyway. He usually dressed very... Tightly, was a good descriptor, though he'd taken to wearing his tops sleeveless, and occasionally leaving the buttons of his uniform shirt undone. Just enough to show the rose-gold and scales of his collarbones.

“They're pretty.” Mingi's voice was low and warm. Captain Kim agreed. Everything about San was pretty, from his face to his skin to his happy, shameless smile he sometimes made when he hugged any of them for a job well done. All of San was stunning.

“I suspect that's part of it,” Captain Kim said. “But we can discuss that later, Munch. Go check with Yunho and Wooyoung, see if they need anything.”

Captain Kim was grateful that Mingi didn't need to be told things twice. That he didn't question his Captain's orders. Captain Kim walked after him, closed the doors to Medical. Locked them. Yeosang had already done what he could for San, and now it was just a matter of San waking up—so Yeosang should be somewhere else on the ship. With Wooyoung and Jongho, or Yunho, maybe.

“I should kill you myself,” Captain Kim said, as he climbed up onto the bed, forced San's legs open so he could kneel between them, and grabbed San's jaw. “You're a damn fool.”

San opened his eyes, very slowly. “Wanted to save them,” he said, his voice very low, very raspy. “Needed to.”

“You didn't need to do _shit, _San, and you know it. You should have just gotten Wooyoung out of there and come back. You worried everyone needlessly to death, including Wooyoung.”

“Sorry, Captain,” San said, blinking up at Captain Kim.

“No you're not,” Captain Kim hissed, wrapping a hand around San's throat and squeezing. San made a small, gasping noise that turned into a wheeze as Captain Kim squeezed harder. “Don't you lie to _me, _Choi San.”

There was a moment of hesitation. San looked up at Captain Kim, his savior and captor and keeper, and let his tongue loll out, long and thin and split down the middle.

“I'm not sorry,” he said, voice a hard grind up his throat when Captain Kim squeezed harder. He wanted to beat San into the ground. He wanted to beat him and cut him and _flay him. _He'd been able to feel—distant though it was—what was happening to San, especially while he slept. He'd been able to feel Wooyoung, too, but that had been... Amorphous. Panic, fear, relief. But San's feelings had been sharper, shaped like a spear. Purpose. Determination. Fearlessness. Insanity.

“I am not _fucking sorry._”

“I know,” Captain Kim said, bending down from where he knelt between San's legs, pushing them further out to the side, and kissed San. Kissed him deep, and slow, and well. He felt San's tongue in his mouth, on his lips, shameless in his attempts to breathe, to part his legs further, to arch up. It was easy to forget that San, despite all of his communications expertise, despite all of his technology proficiency, despite all of his skills and strengths—had grown up in a whorehouse. Had made a living stealing money from hiding places in rooms where people were fucked for entertainment, for pain.When he got too big for that, he'd graduated to being a whore himself. It was easy to forget that San had never really learned the difference between sex for pleasure or care, sex as a transaction for money, and sex as a tool to exert power, whether he was wielding it, or the other party was. They were all one and the same for him, something he did on the side of his personal studies and curiosities. He learned to steal information chits and codes and secrets instead of money, and when it caught up with him he simply disappeared back into the life he'd been born into and it was so simple. It was _so simple _for him to do such a thing.

That was how Captain Kim found him, after all.

He'd simply followed the warm, shimmering pull, the knowledge that the person he was looking for was there, and found him. Found a beautiful, vengeful snake in whore's clothing. Captain Kim made the offer when he knew San was vulnerable, and San took the bait. Even if it was bait for a good thing.

“You owe me a fucking apology,” Captain Kim said, fisting one hand in San's soft hair. San took a breath and laughed, nodding.

“Should have known you'd take your pound of flesh like this, Captain,” he said, smiling and licking his own teeth and lips. He was already moving his hips, already pressing himself to Captain Kim's leathers.

“You haven't played with me in so _long._”

“Because I know you'll give it to me, you crazy whore,” Captain Kim hisses, biting at San's neck as San raises his arms to bracket his own head, gripping the frame of the Medical bed. “You crazy, vicious whore.”

“Yesss,” San breathed out, and Captain Kim reached down, underneath the scrubs to feel between San's legs. He was already hard, already wet. San jerked his hips, tilted his head back, moaned and bit into his own lip. “Nnnyesss.”

“I bet you had fun,” Captain Kim said, ripping the scrubs apart at the center seam, keeping the legs attached to the waist but leaving San's groin bare. Captain Kim unbuttoned his leathers only enough to pull himself free, to slap his length against San's modest cock, his equally modest balls. To press and tease against that wetness between his legs but not push in. Oh no. Instead he angled himself against San's belly and pressed up closer, enjoying the wet little slap of their bodies coming into contact. “I bet you liked it, whoring yourself out for those men. Opening your legs like the slut you are.”

San jerked, grabbing harder at the bedframe, baring his teeth.

“Because you _did _open your legs, Choi San,” Captain Kim hissed, rocking against San's body, but never giving him full and proper contact. Just his own body smacking against San's wet, plump lips. Just San gushing out as he always did, because if he were fertile that is where his eggs would rest. Instead it just squirted out, little pulses of fluid running down his groin, down Captain Kim's thighs.

“I felt it. Knew it from here, knew the second you had the opportunity you'd let yourself get fucked by whoever wanted you.”

“No—” San shook his head, breathless and panting. “No, no Captain—”

“No?” Captain Kim asked, raking the nails of one hand down San's chest and relishing the way he arched up, tongue on his lip, begging for a kiss Captain Kim refused to give him. Not yet. “Then tell me what you gave them, San, if not these pretty little things,” he slipped his hand down to rub on San's labia, to press against his rim.

“Tell me where you let them fuck you if you didn't whore your cunt or your ass.”

“Mouth—mouth, oh stars Captain please—”

“Your mouth?” Captain Kim asked, spitting into that same open mouth. He watched saliva shine on San's lips and chin. “Why should I put my mouth where another man's cock has been, Choi San. Give me a reason.”

“Killed—” San panted, whimpering a little. “Killed them killed all of them _Captain—” _

“Tell me,” Captain Kim asked, reaching to hold the side of San's had. “Tell me all about how you _murdered _them, Teeth, and maybe I'll fuck you how I know you like it.” Captain Kim held his own cock and rubbed it from San's rim to his cock, up, and down, and up, and down.

“Tell me how good it was.”

“_So good,_” San grunted, pulling on the bedframe as though he were tied there. “Fuck, fuck—bit them _hard, _bit them deep just how you like me to do it, Captain.” Captain Kim laughed, bit San's cheek.

“Tell me more.”

“_I loved it,_” San giggled, then laughed, loud and happy and grinning. “_Fuck _ I loved it, Captain it was so good, I came, fuck, I sat on their faces, held their hair, made their mouths take my fucking cock as they _died—_”

“Oh?” Captain Kim pressed his tip against San, held himself there and laughed, low and deep in his throat. “And then?”

“I—I was so _wet, _Captain, I—I needed it _so badly, _I fucked myself on their necks, suffocated them before my venom even ran through them—”

“Aah,” Captain Kim pushed in a little harder, biting San's chest. “I love when you use your teeth.”

“_Stars _so do I,” San laughed and it turned into a moan, his thighs spreading, his cock jumping as Captain Kim moved in a little further. “I never get to use my teeth anymore, you never let me have any fun—”

“I'm sure you had _plenty _of fun, Choi San,” Captain Kim laughed. “Tell me about the last one. I felt that last one, you loved it so much.”

“_Stars,_” San giggled, grinning maniacally, licking his own lips, rolling his tongue. “Oh, oh Captain I fucked myself on him, it was so, so good—it felt _amazing—_”

“As good as my cock?” Captain Kim asked.

“Nothing is as good as your cock, Captain,” San promised, and got a little more of Captain Kim's cock pushed into him for his admission. “Nothing. Not even his mouth, not even his eyes.”

“His eyes,” Captain Kim asked, drunk on San's madness, his vicious and ecstatic joy at being able to dispense justice as he saw fit with no restrictions. “Tell me. Tell me about his eyes, San.”

“I mad sure he watched me with his bloody little eyes,” San said, his own eyes so wide Captain Kim could see his entire pupil. “Fuck, Captain I made sure that worthless fucking monster _watched me _cum all over him, made him watch me fuck his mouth watch—aah—” San's back arched up, thighs shaking where Captain Kim was holding them open, shallowly rocking his cock back and forth with no need to pull all the way out, just deep enough to feel the soft tissue stretch to accommodate him.

“I came all over his _fucking face_, Captain, Captain he called me _girl—_”

“No one gets to call you girl except _me, _Choi San.”

“No,” San shook his head, eyes dark and vicious. “No one but my crew and my Captain gets to call me that, _no one else._”

“I'm glad we understand each other.” Captain Kim said, raking his nails all the way down San's hips, grabbing San by them, and yanking San down the bed, pushing all the way into him in one hard, smooth movement.

San's eyes rolled back in his head. He spasmed in orgasm—_gorgeous, _thought Captain Kim, as he had every time since that first time—and let go of the bed to hold Captain Kim instead. He was starting to shake, the stress of what happened—of what had been happening for months, things he'd refused to deal with, refused to think about—weighing down on him.

“Captain,” San whispered against Captain Kim's mouth, desperate and breathy. “Captain make it go away, make it go away please, forgive me please I hate it, I hate it I hate it—”

“That's my girl,” Captain Kim whispered. “Good girl, asking for what you want.”

Captain Kim grabbed the rails at the side of the medical bed and was distantly glad that the beds were welded to the floor as he used the leverage to fuck San hard and fast and unforgiving, kissed him deeply, wetly, spitting against San's mouth and hearing San swallow it. He felt the wetness of San's shimmery little tears as his Captain absolved him of any sin he committed, any perceived wrongdoing he'd allowed to happen while he was in the process of saving Wooyoung.

Captain Kim thrust so hard the bed creaked. Stayed there as his cock pulsed and San squeezed around him. He licked into San's mouth and felt, more than heard, him whimper.

“I hate it,” San hiccuped, holding on to Captain Kim even as he came down from his adrenaline high. “Captain. Captain Kim please, please forgive me, I hate it, I hate it—”

“Hush,” Captain Kim murmured, making to move away. He was not surprised when San clung to him more tightly, shaking his head. “Choi San.”

“Captain _please._”

It was awkward in their positions—Captain Kim had to wiggle his arms out from under San's iron grip—but he reached up to wipe away San's pathetic tears, cupping his blotchy cheeks, press a kiss to his swollen mouth.

“You're forgiven,” Captain Kim said. He kissed San again, softly, softly, until San ran out of tears for a moment and simply laid there beneath him. San never let go. He held on fiercely to the people he let close to him, believed in them with his entire soul. It was part of what Captain Kim adored about him. His loyalty, his unwavering belief in his companions—from telling Wooyoung to run and knowing that he would, to asking Captain Kim for a kiss and having faith it would be given to him in exchange for nothing. There had been no transactions in those last kisses. Slowly, San was learning affections, instead of trades or payments.

“Thank you,” San whispered, finally letting go, whining as Captain Kim slid out with a wet sound that made him close his legs, flushed with embarrassment.

“Stay here until Yeosang says you're free to leave, San.” Captain Kim said, righting himself and re-fastening his leathers. They were wet, a little slippery, but it wasn't as though the others hadn't known what was happening in the closed Medical bay. “If the others come in... Let them take care of you for a while, mm?”

“I'll try,” San said, reaching out to hold Captain Kim's hand, for just a moment. He squeezed Captain Kim's fingers, unable to stop tears from slipping down his face. Not just from the last few days, but for months of sadness and aches he hadn't let himself cry for, tried to be strong for, held himself together when everything and everyone around him was falling apart.

Captain Kim kissed San's pretty fingers, gave them a squeeze, and walked out of Medical. He closed his eyes against San's tiny little sobs into the pillow he had no doubt curled himself around like a frightened child. Unwavering faith came with a price. San wasn't always strong enough to pay it.

There are worse tortures than to be used and beg for forgiveness. Because, after all, isn't it better to beg forgiveness, than to ask permission?

Mingi isn't stupid.

Mingi isn't _stupid _and he'd known that this would happen one day. He's been preparing for it, in his own way. Readying himself for the inevitable communication that the Horizon Line was at risk of getting destroyed should he not obey. He isn't stupid enough to that Eretek is just bluffing.

Mingi waits until Yunho is asleep. Yunho sleeps like the dead. They're in port on Lalaiden, a city where the Eretek presence is strong—one of the commanding officers of the entire core is stationed here. Mingi hadn't even gotten off the ship and they'd known he was here. Mingi waits until Yunho is asleep, kisses his head, and shoulders his backpack.

He knows how to get off the ship without alerting Jongho. Through the back vent, up through the hatch, and then between the hull shields and the ship itself until he reaches the engine turbine. He drops down out of the ship that's been his home for the last five years and swallows, touching it gently. He'll miss it, if he doesn't make it back. He'll miss it, miss them. Gentle Yeosang, who bandages his wounds and kisses his forehead. Wild Wooyoung and beautiful San, mysterious Seonghwa. Straightforward, unflappable Jongho and his Captain, his dear, dear Captain.

...And Yunho. He's... Especially going to miss Yunho.

Mingi takes a deep breath. Closes his eyes. Walks away from home, from love. From protection and care and all the good things he's ever had so he can protect those good things.

Walks right to his death.

It's just a matter of time before they snap him up off the street. They know it's him, even without the brand burned into his neck. He's wearing his favorite duster, his gloves. His features are distinct and he's sure his picture has been passed around to everyone by now and no matter how careful he's been, he knows there are a few people in every port, calling back to Lalaiden, letting them know he was spotted.

He doesn't bother trying to get to his bad place. There are too many of them. He'll die in an attempt to save himself, save his crew, and he can't allow that. The Horizon Line _has _to get away. It's not optional. Not a question. They _must _be safe.

So Mingi lets himself get manhandled, arms cuffed up behind his back. He's shoved and kicked and slapped until he's led into a warehouse where he is forced to his knees. There is a gun to the back of his neck as his head is pulled back, exposing his vulnerable throat. He wonders if Captain Kim can feel him. Will speak to him in his mind as he has before, like when Seonghwa joined their crew: _Don't worry, Munch, I'll get back all right. Take Seonghwa home_. Mingi knows that Captain Kim can feel him. Can probably feel all of them, and he forces himself not to think of Captain Kim, of the Horizon Line and her crew. Just breathes and empties his mind to let himself float, untouchable and numb.

“Well, well, well.” Says the man in the white mask. The leader of the Eretek Mercenary Core. The man who found Mingi living like a vicious street dog and forced him to put that strength to use, though Mingi hadn't seen it that way before. He hadn't made the connection between his brand and slavery until Yunho and Captain Kim explained it to him. Mingi had been a slave just as Yunho had been, though their circumstances were different—and how both he and Yunho had clawed for, grasped at freedom while refusing to let go of one another.

He'd always known this day would come. No matter how much he wished for it, prayed for it to not be true.

“My errant dog, brought home to heel. Tell me, Song. Did you think you'd escaped me? Did you think for _one minute _that I did not know where you were, who you were consorting with? Did you think I did not know you'd run off with that whore and hidden yourself on a ship like a coward?”

Mingi says nothing. Captain Kim has taught him this. If you say nothing, nothing can be used against you. It's not a matter of reacting to what the enemy is saying—they want you to react, to show your belly. It becomes a matter of your own strength and keeping them from finding out your weaknesses.

“Answer me!”

The blow across Mingi's head and face is made with a piece of flexible wood wrapped in leather and studded with metal half-circles at irregular points, so they strike somewhere else every time. So they dig in more. One of them hits Mingi's temple. It hurts. He says nothing.

“Did your precious Captain cut out your tongue?”

Another piece of leather-wrapped wood is pushed into Mingi's mouth, turned to force it open so his teeth and tongue are showing. Mingi stares at a neck, nothing more. He does not speak. He does not cry out.

“Well. You're back where you belong now, boy. And you're going to stay here.” The leather is yanked away. “Take him to the Rooms. Tell the boys to have fun.”

The Rooms are torture chambers, really. Mingi's heard of them, but never been in one. Not that it really matters. He's letting himself sink into his quiet place, where Yunho helps him to go when he's buzzing with energy and can't come down. He thinks of how Yunho speaks to him in those moments. Imagines his soft, soothing voice.

_Shh, shh. Listen to my heart. I'm here. You're safe, nothing can harm you here. You're safe, Mingi. I'm here. _

Perhaps his quiet place is not where he wants to be. But it's better than being present, than being here, in this room, where his shirt is bring torn off. Where his hands are uncuffed but still grabbed tightly, where his legs are tied to a cement floor at the knees and ankles. His throat is locked into a collar that keeps it upright, keeps it stretched and tight. That collar is attached to a bar above his head, where his hands are being wrapped in rope. There's just enough give for him to sway back and forth. His head is tipped up, and while his throat is covered by the collar, his face is exposed.

His fragile, vulnerable eyes are exposed.

_Listen to my heart. You're safe, Mingi. I'm here._

The first crack of the whip lances over his back from shoulder to shoulder. With his entire upper body unclothed, he'd known this was coming. It still hurts. It must be a metal tip. He can feel the blood on his back. Mingi has been subjected to many pains over his years, but not this. Never this. It is a new, fresh pain. It sparkles and sizzles down his body.

The whip cracks again. From shoulder to waist this time.

_Listen to my heart. _

Again.

_You're safe, Mingi. _

Again.

_I'm here. _

Again, again again.

_I'm here. _

Hanging here, bloodied across the back and now his chest and now his sides for what feels like an _eternity _is nothing. This pain is nothing compared to the pain of having left Yunho and Captain Kim and his crew. This pain is nothing.

This pain is nothing.

This pain is nothing.

_Listen to my heart. _

He bleeds.

_You're safe, Mingi. _

He chokes.

_I'm here. _

He trembles in his restraints as his head is pulled back, the collar connected to a chain wrapped painfully around his upper chest. He is looking directly up. Something drips, drips, drips against his mouth. Doesn't slide into his nose because of the angle, but he can't relax his jaw. If he does, it will get into his mouth, whatever it is. It smells terrible. It makes his lips burn.

_C'mon, Munch, lets get out of here. I'm sure you're hungry by now? My treat._

But Mingi is exhausted.

_What have I told you about making sure you fill out your forms, Mingi? You're lucky I've done it for you. Again._

He's so tired.

_Mingi! That was amazing! I mean I'm angry at you!! That was reckless! But it was amazing!_

Stars above he is so, so tired.

_How'd you like the new shotgun? Pretty nice, huh? Made sure it was heavy enough for you, this time. _

Everything hurts.

_Mingi, I wish you'd be more careful. Could you please be more careful, next time?_

Everything aches.

_Mingi! Have some modesty and at least put pants on when you're walking around!_

Everything.

His body, his mind, his heart. All of it. Mingi coughs up a mouthful of... Whatever's dripping between his lips, spilling it over the sides of his face and down his neck and into his hair. He coughs and coughs and tries not to get anything in his nose, though he's angled slightly forward to keep that from happening. He coughs and chokes and thinks about what he's left behind: what he loves, and has protected. He hopes they forgive him, that they don't hate him. That no matter what, they know he loves them so, so much. And this physical, earthly pain is _nothing _compared to the agony of leaving them behind.

Of course, sometimes, permission wouldn't have been granted anyway. Of course, sometimes no matter what rewards there might have been, the punishment would be much, much greater.

For everyone involved.

Yunho watched, in absolute horror, as Captain Kim spasmed on the ground. He jerked back and forth, coughing up—coughing up what must be blood—and couldn't seem to stay still in Jongho's arms. Jongho was holding him down. Trying to keep him stable, maybe.

“Hurts,” he gasped out, and Jongho looked the most off-balance Yunho had ever seen him. “Can't reach—”

“I know,” Jongho said, baring his teeth. “I know, Captain, hold on. Yunho!” Yunho shook himself, looking at the Bosun. “Get over here. Get Captain Kim to his quarters, I'm going to get Seonghwa.”

“But—”

“_Now,_” Jongho snapped, already up, already moving. Yunho all but ran to Captain Kim, grabbed him, held him against his chest and felt the way he shook and snapped, coughing up blood and bile all over Yunho's shirt but he didn't care. He didn't care. First Mingi gone—Mingi _gone _for nearly ten days—and now this? Now this, his Captain small and vulnerable, trembling against Yunho as he ran to his quarters. Yunho was laying the Captain down in his bed when Seonghwa flew in behind him—grabbed something shimmery in a vial off the back counter.

“Is that—”

“_Move,_” Seonghwa snarled, and Yunho backed away, eyes wide. A full vial of Ambrosia, and Seonghwa was ripping the top off and tipping it into Captain Kim's mouth—

“You're—but that whole thing—”

“He can _handle it,_” Seonghwa said, disappearing into his own darkness and taking the Captain with him.

Yunho staggered back into the wall, sliding down. He couldn't breathe, he—what the name of the stars above was _happening—_

“—ho. Yunho!” Yunho stared up at Jongho, knowing his eyes were wide and dry.

“Get us off-planet and into orbit.”

Yunho's heart dropped.

“But—Mingi—”

“_In orbit, _Yunho! Go!”

Yunho nodded, desperate for—anything, anything to distract him, he needed, he couldn't _think—_

Yunho couldn't remember getting into the suspension pillar. Couldn't remember getting them up into orbit the planet below them, couldn't remember raising the reflective shields that would keep them safe from prying eyes, could only think _mingi captain mingi mingi we can't leave him captain captain please captain i need him we can't leave him he'll be waiting for us to come to him we need to save him mingi mingi mingi—_

“Yunho. Yunho can you hear me?”

Yunho jerked his head back and forth, couldn't seem to stop the motion once it started. He felt hands on his face, cool hands, long-fingered hands. Yeosang, Yeosang was touching his face and Yunho couldn't breathe, he couldn't—

“Yunho, Yunho it's okay, it's okay, calm down. That's it, that's it, come on. Listen to my heart. Come back. It's okay. It's okay, Yunho. Just breathe.”

Yunho stared at Yeosang. Felt like he'd never seen him before with the way his mind was swimming and his eyes were blurring and he tried to grab on to something, anything, to ground himself. His hand found Wooyoung. It was Wooyoung to one side, San on the other. Yeosang was in his lap, cradling his head, the three of them trying to keep him pinned to the floor of the Horizon Line's bridge.

“Breathe,” Yeosang said, running his hands through Yunho's hair. His fingers were cool and a little wet. Yunho's cheeks itched.

“Captain Kim,” Yunho whispered, felt his own tears but only so distantly. Felt the sob choke him. “_Mingi._”

He hadn't cried yet. Had absolute faith that, even though they hadn't been able to locate him, Mingi would come back. Mingi was strong and capable and smart. He'd be able to find his way back from whatever situation he was in but... But now they weren't there, he'd go to find the ship and—and they wouldn't be there, he'd—he'd be alone, lost and confused and _hurt. _

Yunho put his hands over his face and pressed his hands to Yeosang's chest, tried to pull his knees up and _wept, _pathetic and ugly and loud. Felt Yeosang's arms around his shoulders and neck, felt Yeosang's hands in his hair. Yeosang, who understood his pain intimately. Yeosang, who cried every time Wooyoung was gone too long and still Wooyoung left for too long, knowing the damage he caused but knowing he'd get back. Knowing he'd make his way home eventually.

Yunho wasn't sure Mingi would. _Could._

“I'm sorry,” Yeosang was whispering fiercely into his hair, kissing his head, hugging him tightly. “I'm sorry, Yunho I'm so sorry.” Yunho put his elbows on his thighs on either side of Yeosang's skinny body and pressed his hands to Yeosang's back. Kept his face hidden even as Wooyoung and San pressed in closer, hugged him as best they could. Yeosang kissed Yunho's head, then tipped his head up to kiss his forehead, his cheeks and eyelids, the corners of his mouth and his lips, so tender. Yeosang was always so gentle with everyone. It was like he knew exactly what Yunho needed in that moment. The soft touch of someone who cared for him very, very much. _Someones_, perhaps. His head was turned for Wooyoung to kiss, and then San. Slow kisses, deep kisses, affectionate and comforting kisses. Yunho's lips were raw. He didn't care.

“Get up,” came a voice, what felt like hours later. Yunho didn't look up, his head pressed to Yeosang's shoulder, where Yeosang held it.

“Get up.” Came the words again. Jongho. Stern as always. San made an ugly hissing noise, and Wooyoung's snarling expression could be heard in his tone.

“Stars and all the saints above have some fucking _sympathy,_” he snarled. “We just left his _partner _down there—”

“Get. Up.”

“_Fuck off, _you heartless son of a bi—” San said. But Yunho braced his feet on the floor. Pushed himself up and set Yeosang carefully on the ground. Let his lips press into Yeosang's soft, soft hair.

“Yunho—” Yeosang whispered, but Yunho shook his head. He had to hold it together now. The time for tears was past, and he—he needed something to take his mind off—

He gritted his teeth, looked at Jongho through his blurring vision.

“Yes, Bosun.”

“Captain's quarters. Now. The rest of you, back to your stations. Yeosang, you're in front.” Yeosang nodded, head ducked as he and San headed for the bridge, and Wooyoung went down to Engineering, where he always went when Yunho wasn't available.

Yunho didn't bother with speaking to Jongho again. Just stalked past and didn't care that he practically threw the Bosun against the wall with his shoulder. His jaw was locked tight as he tried to keep his knock from becoming a pound.

“Permission to enter.” He managed to sound almost in control of himself.

“Granted,” came Captain Kim's voice. It was weak and tired. Yunho almost didn't care. He didn't care, because they'd left Mingi down on that planet, they'd _abandoned him_.

He pushed open the door and wasn't surprised to see Captain Kim at his desk, as he usually was, when Yunho was called to see him.

“You asked for me, Captain.”

“Close the door, Yunho.”

Yunho wanted to say no just out of spite. Because he _hated _his Captain right now. _Hated _him with every fiber of his being.

“I know, Yunho.” Captain Kim said, pressing on hand against his eye. “I know. Please close the door.”

Yunho slammed it shut so hard the room seemed to shake. Captain Kim winced. Good.

“What do you want.” Yunho had never spoken so disrespectfully to his Captain. Not through all the times he'd disagreed with his decisions, not through all the times he'd felt like Captain Kim made the wrong call and got them all neck-deep in trouble. “Captain.”

“We didn't abandon Mingi.”

“_Bullshit._” Yunho hissed. He'd never been so angry in his entire life. “Jongho gave the order and we all know he speaks for you, Captain, when you can't speak. _You. _Gave that order.”

Captain Kim took a deep breath. Rubbed fingers against his head as though it pained him.

“It does pain me,” Captain Kim said. “Though not nearly as much as staying on that planet would have.”

“How do you know what I speak in the privacy of my own mind.”

Yunho's entire body is sharp, his anger honing it into a weapon. He feels as though he is holding a spear to Captain Kim's throat.

“It's... What I do, Yunho. It's what I am. I do not do it to invade or... Take advantage of you. I cannot _help it, _if I could have we would have stayed on that planet, Eretek be damned and we'd have found Mingi and taken him back by now. But I _cannot._”

Captain Kim is baring his teeth, clawing his nails over his desk. “I cannot. No matter how much I wish I could.”

“Explain.”

“It's how I found you. And Mingi. How I knew where to find you, you... Your mind, your _being_. It calls to me from any distance. I can _hear you. _Feel you. Did you not think it strange how I found you there, among all that carnage? Did you not find it odd that I found us a Quartermaster in a few hours and in a _slave market_, rather than the few days it should have taken at a more reputable establishment?”

Of course he had, but Yunho had put it down to luck. Captain Kim had the luck of the devil.

“It isn't luck,” Captain Kim said. “I knew for a fact where to find you all. From Jongho to Seonghwa, you called to me across solar systems and I followed because I had to, because I was _meant _to have you here, on my crew.”

“What are you talking about,” Yunho asked, trying to remain stalwart in the mess of all this... Information he was obtaining. Whether or not it was true.

“I don't gain anything by lying to you, Yunho.” Captain Kim pushed his hair back. “I hear you all. Feel you all. I had to get off-world because if I hadn't Mingi's pain would have killed me.”

Yunho's heart dropped. He choked, staggering into one of the chairs welded to the metal floor. “What?” he asked, feeling suddenly helpless and confused.

“Mingi's tolerance for physical pain is much higher than mine,” Captain Kim said. “He has an... Unbelievable pain threshold, you know this.”

He did.

“But I don't,” Captain Kim said. “Until... Until the mindfasting, I can't share that ability with him. Just as I can't share Seonghwa's ghostskin, or Wooyoung's Sight.”

“Mindfasting?”

Captain Kim sighed. “It is... When people like me meet the people they are meant to be with. They share a mindfasting. Once all of them are together, once all of them are connected, they become one.”

_This is madness, _Yunho thought, and Captain Kim nodded.

“It is absolute madness, Yunho,” Captain Kim said, sounding mournful. “I regret to say that is something, too, that will be shared through the mindfast. There is a place we must go, I... I've only just started to feel its location. I've been waiting for it. Because in the meantime it harms me to be with you, but also to be too far from you. And in Mingi's case...” Captain Kim shook his head.

“I was in too much pain, _he _was in too much pain, for me to be able to find him. That's why we took off, Yunho, so I can _find him, _not because we were leaving him there. I have absolutely no intention of leaving Mingi to the monsters who have stolen him.”

“Prove it,” Yunho said. “Prove to me that what you speak is truth.”

“Come here,” Captain Kim said, offering both of his small hands. “Take my hands.”

Yunho did so. He took Captain Kim's hands in his own and felt himself close his eyes even as he watched Captain Kim close his.

Yunho _felt. _Felt the wound across his neck, just under the jaw, dragged up into his hair, the pull of the hook that made it. Jongho's arms, strong and unforgiving around him. Drifting through dreams to See where to go, to learn. Felt the dizziness and hazy pain and elation when Wooyoung and Yeosang had been found. The desperation and hope to bring them with him because they were _meant _to be with him. Felt San, pinned to a headboard and well-kissed, the joy when he came to the ship. When Mingi and Yunho followed him. When Seonghwa came. How the pain got worse with every person he brought on board but the pain didn't _matter _because they were supposed to be with him and this pain, like all pain, would fade.

Yunho felt the agony of vomiting in the loading bay, because Jongho stopped him from leaving to try and find Mingi himself. The humiliation and fear of being carried and discovered, the relief of the drug sliding down his throat, a full vial of Ambrosia made from his own blood and even that only dulled the pain until they were far enough away that he could concentrate.

How much it _hurt _that Yunho was in pain, hating himself for causing that pain, fear to explain, knowing he must—

Yunho jerked back, gagging, coughing and gasping for air. Captain Kim did not go to his side. Simply stood there looking very small, and very tired.

“I did not want to leave him,” Captain Kim said. Whispered. “I would never. I would _never. _Abandon a member of my crew, Yunho. If you believe nothing else, please believe that.”

“I,” Yunho clutched at his chest where it _hurt, _at his head where his mind was cracking in half, barely holding on, he was barely holding on to what little sanity he had, he was going mad, he was coming apart—

“Yunho,” Captain Kim said, kneeling beside him. “Come back. Please come back.” Captain Kim licked his lips and reached to touch Yunho. Yunho jerked away, terrified, and watched as Captain Kim crumpled in on himself, smiling sadly, looking at the floor.

“And that's... Why I didn't tell you.” He said. Yunho saw, for the first time, his Captain's tears. They shimmered like San's tears, like his own blood. “Because dividing it by two is not _enough, _Yunho, don't you see, I cannot—” Captain Kim bared his teeth.

“I _will not. _Subject you to the thing that ruins me. Not on your own. Cut by eight it is... It will be _manageable, _Yunho. I have Seen the light at the end of this long, dark journey. I just beg you. _Beg you. _To trust me just a little further. Just a little more, Yunho, it's almost over.”

“Ca...” Yunho could barely breathe. “Captain. Captain—”

He heaved up, grabbed Captain Kim and clutched him to his chest as though he were the only thing keeping him tethered. His hands splayed across his Captain's back and how could he not ever have seen just how _small _he was? How could he have been so blind to how small, how weathered, how worn his Captain was? How could he have dared to call himself a member of this crew when—when he'd never seen—

“I didn't want you to see,” Captain Kim whispered into Yunho's ear.

“I'm so sorry,” Yunho gasped out, unable to think, to breathe. “Captain I'm so sorry, I—”

“Don't apologize,” Captain Kim said. “Just. Believe in me. Trust me. Know that I would never purposefully let any of you come to any harm. I would rather die.”

Yunho nodded, felt Captain Kim kiss his hair with just as much gentleness as Yeosang. He wondered, frantically, if he and Mingi had ever extended that same courtesy to their mad, laughing captain, as he was locked in the cage of their arms and ripping at their hair.

“Now. We need to plan a rescue. From here, I'll be able to see clearly. I shouldn't have waited so long. That was foolish. Come.”

Yunho nodded again, taking a few deep breaths. They would bring Mingi back.

Captain Kim would make sure of it.

Somehow, our Captain, he always has the right tools for a job: and all he needs for this one is a shadow, and a snake.

With Seonghwa's... Somewhat newly discovered ability to nearly sink himself into the person he's covering with shadow, moving around unseen is spectacularly simple. Seonghwa just... Presses against San's back and moves with him, a second skin—which is incredible because San's body is disgustingly strong and also disgustingly flexible—so he can move in and out of places where most people couldn't hope to fit even the width of their chests. Moving past guards? Simple. Killing them with tiny two-point glass darts covered in San's venom? Equally simple. It's even been diluted, so it takes a little longer to work, so no one immediately drops down dead beside their partners or anything suspicious like that. Not until San and Seonghwa are well out of the way.

So it's easy to get into the compound. Easy to kill everyone they meet on the way. _No one will miss them,_ Captain Kim had said with beautifully characteristic savagery, a feral smile on his face. _So just kill them all. Make sure our message gets sent loud and clear._ He'd been forced to stay on board, but at least he hadn't been in so much pain it was unmanageable. Seonghwa breathes around San's body, lingers as they move deeper inside.

San's eyes are wide and Seonghwa can see through them—can feel the dirt under San's bare feet. He can sense what San senses—the little vibrations in the air that make him tip his head, searching for sources. It's incredible, really. Even with his own heightened senses, Seonghwa can't feel anything like this.

They are moving down a dark corridor when they feel it. Mingi's presence. He vibrates on a frequency that San can feel, can _taste _on the end of his tongue, and Seonghwa lets himself feel and taste it. It is... Distinctly Mingi. It is weak. Soaked in blood, but there. That's the important part. Any damage can be healed, so long as Mingi is alive to be healed.

San's darts take eight more men. Seonghwa's shadow snaps the neck of another, out of San's line of sight. They must have killed more than thirty men by now. San is running low on supplies.

“If we get close enough I can just bite,” he whispers, almost a breath.

“Exposes you,” Seonghwa breathes back, pressed to him. “Unacceptable.”

“Okay, _mom._” Seonghwa can feel San rolling his eyes and doesn't give in to the desire to pinch him. They're getting close now, so very close. San can taste it and thus, Seonghwa. Takes three more men by a closed door, and a fourth at the end of the hallway. Closer, closer. The door isn't even locked. They must have confidence that Mingi is too weak to escape, or that no one would have the gall to come and get him this deep in their primary compound. San opens the door with a little wiggle of Seonghwa's shadows and takes a quiet, shuddering breath.

Yes, there is Mingi. There is their Mingi, tall and gaunt on the ground, bleeding and dirty and looking _broken, _looking—looking _shattered. _San presses his lips together beneath Seonghwa's shadow to keep from whimpering, all but running to Mingi, skidding onto his knees.

“Mingi, oh sweet stars above,” San whispers, unsure of where he can touch him, unsure of—of where the unopened wounds are, there are _so many _wounds—

“I'll close them, Seonghwa whispers. Slides his body over Mingi to at least seal the bleeding wounds with scabs, so they can be re-opened and cleaned once they get back to the Horizon line. “You need to get him out of here.”

“But—”

“The way behind is clear,” Seonghwa reasons. “The way ahead is not. Captain Kim gave orders.”

_Kill them all._

“But you—”

“I can handle myself, San,” Seonghwa breathes. “Come. Carry him. I'll take you back as far as I can, but then I must go.”

Seonghwa can feel San's pounding heart, can feel the little sound in the back of his throat that he's biting back. San lifts Mingi—bony, nearly weightless Mingi—and carries him. Close, they are hidden in Seonghwa's shadow until the entrance.

“Jongho waits for you, just there,” Seonghwa says, motioning to a small house. “You two get Mingi back to the ship.”

“Seonghwa—”

“I have orders.”

San bites his lip, and leans toward Seonghwa and is gifted with the kiss Seonghwa knows he wants.

“Please be careful,” San whispers as they part, putting his little container of glass needles into Seonghwa's hands.

“I'll try,” Seonghwa assures. He waits until he sees the little light that indicates that Jongho sees them, and then disappears back down into the compound to kill and wreak havoc as he has not been allowed in an _age._

It is easy, to allow his rage to overtake him. Just as it had been easy the last time. They have harmed a member of his family. Nearly _killed _a member of his family, and there are very few things Seonghwa will not tolerate under any condition, and that is one of them.

The last time he did this, he thinks as he moves through room after room, smothering grunts and officers and slavers and _filth, _he'd been too angry to think. Too angry to see clearly his goal. That was simple murder. This? This is revenge, and he understands why San loves the taste of it so, as he snaps necks and stabs throats and guts this scum from belly to throat just to watch them wake and bleed, shadows over their mouths, their screams echoing into the endless void that covers Seonghwa's body.

He enjoys their suffering. He only wishes he could cause _more. _

A few of the men, he stabs with the needles. Just to watch San's venom work. It's incredible that the men are sleeping even as their eyes and ears and gums bleed. That they wake choking on their own blood for only long enough to see Seonghwa's terrifying face above them, all long white teeth and white eyes and too-wide grin. The fear is the best part, Seonghwa thinks. It tastes _amazing _in his skin. He loves a lot of emotions, but fear. Fear is a delight, delicious, and when he'd decided not to take it from the crew he'd started craving these moments when he is allowed to completely let go. Let his anger fuel him as he kills, kills, kills all the way through the rankings until he reaches the very bottom of the compound. The very _last _floor. Behind a locked door sits a filthy beast in man's clothing, and Seonghwa slides in through the dark, disappearing under the bed, around the wall. He is readying himself to leap when he is speared through the gut by a long, wide blade.

His eyes are wide as his swirling shadows fall away and he is left, defenseless and impaled, in front of this animal. This cruel, cruel creature who took delight in Mingi's suffering and now will, no doubt, take pleasure in Seonghwa's.

“I didn't think there were any of you left,” the man says, standing from his chair. “I thought you all died in that plague the Kyridians set loose on your planet.” He grins and it's ugly. The ugliest thing Seonghwa has ever seen. Not only because he _dares _to speak of things he could never hope to understand but he speaks of them with _triumph_.

“I guess not.”

The man gets close to Seonghwa. One of Seonghwa's hands is wrapped around the blade in his belly, as though that will keep it from going deeper, but it doesn't. The man forces it in harder, and Seonghwa coughs up a spill of black blood.

“You're even the right species. Incredible. Do you think I can _clone _you? Your talents would be so useful for me. I'm not pleased that my enemies are using them, but... As long as I have your DNA, it won't matter, will it.”

“F-fuck you,” Seonghwa hisses, trying to keep his teeth gritted, grunting out when the blade is pushed further. Panting when the it widens the closer to the hilt it gets.

“Oh, not today, pet. Though I'd _love _to fuck you, if I had the chance. Maybe I'll make one of you special, just for me. Fuck you senseless, listen to you cry and scream. Yes, I think I'd like that.”

The man got closer. Mistake number one.

“Though maybe I'll have better luck with the little whores on your crew?”

The man raised Seonghwa's head. Mistake number two.

“Or how about that tiny, pretty little Captain of yours? He'd look good impaled on a cock.”

The man threatened Seonghwa's family. Mistake number three.

What was that phrase Wooyoung had taught him? After that trouble with the five men in the marketplace?

_Three strikes, you're out._

Seonghwa's free hand brings up the rest of San's needles in a whip of movement he'd _learned _from San. He stabs them directly into the man's neck. He watches them puncture the skin, watches them sink in, nearly disappear into the flesh with the strength of Seonghwa's thrust. Seonghwa's eyes are wide and white like they haven't been since that slice of time on Kyridia, when his body and shadow were one and the same. He is bleeding from the mouth but oh, oh Seonghwa is so _hateful. _

“As though I'd ever let scum like you put your hands on my Captain. On _my family._”

Seonghwa lifts one leg, the one opposite the hand holding the sword blade, and kicks the man away from him. It isn't a strong kick, but it's enough. It's enough to make the man stagger, fumble over his desk. But Seonghwa is rash. Seonghwa is _angry. _Seonghwa doesn't see the knife until it's buried in the flesh just below his collarbone. Luckily, the man sinks to his knees before he can drag the blade down. Oh. Oh thank the sweet, _sweet _stars above.

Seonghwa coughs up another mouth of blood. Grabs the hilt of the blade through his belly. He pulls it out from the wall and falls to his knees, tripping over the body of the man in front of him. Seonghwa _screams _as the blade is shoved in completely. He screams, then sobs, and struggles up, determined—he can't die here, he can't _die here. _

He forces himself up. He can barely breathe, doesn't want to breathe too hard, in case the blades are close to any other essential organs. He's been pierced somewhere, otherwise he wouldn't be bleeding from the mouth. His shadows are trying to keep the blades still, focusing on keeping him upright, on making sure he doesn't injure himself any worse than he already is. It's a slow, painful drag up the hallways, through the bodies. _Hurts, _he thinks, pathetically. He hates how weak he feels. How... Slow everything seems.

_I'm not going to make it,_ he realizes, as he sinks to the ground. He can see the door he and San had entered through, he's so close. He's so damn close but the thought of moving any more is just... He can't. He _can't. _

It was worth it, he thinks, trying to fall without jostling the sword and knife, not that it matters now. He's dying but it was worth it, worth Mingi, worth his safety. He smiles up at the door, listens to his own heartbeat. His cheeks itch, tears black and dripping down his face like his blood drips down his chin and throat. _It's worth it to die like this_, he thinks_._ To die in defense of something he loves, instead of taking revenge for something he loves that he's lost.

He hears his name. It's... Distant. Like listening to his father, or his mother, or his older sister yell for him when he'd spent too long in the tunnels. He can't tell where they're calling from, but it's very far away. So far. Seonghwa remembers that they're gone. They've been gone for so, so long. Long before the horrible versions of them wracked with disease had been, before the last plagues and subsequent slaughter. They've been gone since before they couldn't remember his name. He thought he'd left them behind when he fled into the dark undertunnels of the world to save himself, when he couldn't save anyone else.

“Adalida?” he asks, though he can't hear himself. “Alada?...Seonghweya?” He feels what he thinks is his gut cramping in on itself. He feels weightless. He's falling up. He can't open his eyes. It's so dark, and he's so cold.

There is a tiny point of warmth on his belly. A single... Note of heat. But it's hard to focus on, like it's not really there. He tries, though. Tries because... Because as much as he misses his family, he has a new family now. After years and years, an eternity of nothing but black and hate and agony there is a family waiting for him to come back. They are warm, like the point on his belly. Warm, like the back and sides of his head. Warm, like the sound of someone's voice as he is lifted, up out of the cold, but not the dark.

_Come on, you stubborn bastard,_ comes a voice, grating and furious. Beneath that, a terrified:

_No, no no no Seonghwa please hold on, don't let go I've got you—_

_Don't you dare die on us, I swear on all the stars and saints above—_

Then there is nothing. Nothing at all.

Sometimes, one man's survival takes another man's death.

San and Jongho brought Mingi back to the Horizon Line. They burst through the loading bay doors but Captain Kim was already moving toward them, dragging Mingi inside with Yunho helping him.

“Get him in one of the Re-Gen units,” Captain Kim said, bleeding from the nose. “And get—get Wooyoung and Yeosang up here, Seonghwa is—”

“He stayed behind,” San said, trying to help Yunho in carrying Mingi. He fell when he overbalanced and Jongho caught him, held him up. “He stayed—Captain he—”

“I know,” Captain Kim snapped. He wasn't angry at them. Jongho knew that, could feel that. But San fell silent anyway, pale and keyed-up. Captain Kim looked like a dead man walking, sweating and shaking and panting for air. He grabbed Jongho by the shoulder, stared up at him.

“When Wooyoung and Yeosang get up here,” Captain Kim said. “You will take them to Seonghwa. Get him back here. As _fast _as you can without killing him, Jongho.”

“Or you,” Jongho hissed. “Get back to your quarters, _Captain. _You shouldn't be out of them.”

“Mingi—”

“Will get in a Re-Gen unit and be fine especially since Yunho knows how they work,” Jongho said. “Go. Now. San, take the Captain to his quarters. Stay with him there, please.”

“Yes Bosun,” San nodded, needing something to do like he always did in a crisis. Jongho watched San half-drag, half-carry Captain Kim back to his quarters and took a deep, slow breath. San and the Captain in his quarters. Yunho and Mingi down in Medical. Wooyoung and Yeosang coming up the ramp _from _medical. Only Seonghwa unaccounted for, and they were about to fix that.

“Come on,” he said, not even bothering to explain as he waved them through the bay doors. “Now.”

“But—_”_

“_Now._” Jongho snarled. “We do not have time to argue, _move._” Jongho headed back out into the night, felt and heard that Wooyoung and Yeosang were following him through the back alleyways and secret places he'd used to get from the ship to the compound. It was harder for all of them, but not impossible—though they didn't have San's natural agility and flexibility, they still managed it. But with the condition Captain Kim was in, they had a very limited amount of time here. Very limited. It was going to be hard enough for him with Mingi on board—never mind whatever state Seonghwa was in, and Jongho had no idea if he was really going to be able to help this time.

But he ran. He ran to the compound, flew through the door and fell to his knees at the bottom of the second staircase, where Seonghwa sat on his knees, tipped back against the wall with a blade through his gut and another in his chest. His face was covered in—in black, what must be blood and tears. His eyes were a little open, his lips parted. More black dripped from them.

“Oh _stars above,_” Yeosang skidded to a stop, dropped down beside Seonghwa, tipped his head back. “Seonghwa. Seonghwa can you hear me?” Seonghwa's head turned very, very slowly, and his eyes were unfocused, staring off at some distant point in his internal vision. Seonghwa breathed out words, but they didn't mean anything.

“Oh no,” Yeosang breathed, pushing up his sleeves. “Wooyoung—”

“I'm here,” he said, kneeling behind Yeosang, folded against him, his hands sliding down Yeosang's arms to hold his wrists. “I'm here, do it.”

Jongho knew that Yeosang was a Healer. Captain Kim had told him so. But he'd never seen Yeosang work. Wooyoung had disabled all the cameras in Medical, and they were so shorthanded that no one really got to see Yeosang _do _anything. They just knew he fixed their bodies.

But to see it done was... Beautiful. And terrifying.

“The damage is too much,” Yeosang said, violently shaking, his eyes shining a bright and burning blue. His hair, too, was turning blue at the roots, as were his fingernails. His skin seemed to glow a little like a soft, golden moon. “It's too—Wooyoung—”

“That's why I'm here, Yeosang,” Wooyoung said, pressing himself closer. “It's fine.”

It almost seemed as though Yeosang's bones were being highlighted. Shining through his skin. And Wooyoung, after a moment, looked the exact same way, except that the light he gave off was violet, not blue. It matched his hair.

When Yeosang spoke, Wooyoung spoke too. The air seemed to vibrate with their resonance as their hands found a place to settle on Seonghwa's belly.

“Pull out the blade in his gut,” they said, and Jongho nodded.

“Quickly,” they said. Jongho took the hilt in hand, found the angle it had been driven in at, and _yanked. _

Blood, there was to much blood, how could Seonghwa still _have _so much blood when there was so much on the ground, black and thick and shining? More of it spilled out over Seonghwa's lip and chin, his eyes rolled back and his body unresponsive.

“Got it,” they said. “Got it we got it we got it it's okay, we closed it—”

Yeosang made a terrible, terrible movement of his neck, like it was broken and he was trying to snap the bones back into place. He did it again. Again, again. Wooyoung didn't echo it, but his hands visibly tightened on Yeosang's wrists.

“Come back,” he said. “Come back, Yeosang, there's one more. There's one more, we can do it, we can do it.” They started to speak as one person again, and Jongho put his hand on the hilt of the knife in Seonghwa's chest.

“Pull it,” they said, and Jongho did. Seonghwa didn't move. Didn't even twitch. Just blood dripping from his mouth and nose. Just a fall of dark hair across his eyes.

“Just a little more,” they said. “Just a—just a little—”

Jongho watched in fascination and horror as, before his eyes, Yeosang seemed to grow thinner, and thinner. Not just physically, but... Emotionally? He just seemed to wither. He and Wooyoung were panting for air in hissed, horrible breaths.

“Not enough,” they said, and Jongho watched tears fall from Yeosang's eyes. “He's—he's gone, it's— It's not—we're not enough—”

Jongho grabbed Yeosang's wrist, made sure he was touching both Wooyoung and Yeosang. He wasn't surprised to see that his bones were starting to show. That his fingernails were turning orange. He kept his eyes on Seonghwa. He could hear their voices, their words in his head and the vibrations in his blood—

_No, no no no Seonghwa please hold on—_

_Don't you dare die on us, I swear on all the stars and saints above—_

_Come on, you stubborn bastard. _ _ **Live.** _

Jongho kept watching until Seonghwa hauled in a gasp of air and choked it out, coughing blood all over Yeosang, who gave a frantic nod. Wooyoung let go of Yeosang.

“Come on,” Yeosang panted, thin and shaking. He was worse off than Wooyoung, who just looked tired. “Now, come on _now_, he'll make it if we hurry, he'll make it, he's strong—”

Jongho wasn't sure of who Yeosang was attempting to convince. But he picked Seonghwa up, cradling him against his chest and licking his lips.

“Lets get back then.”

Jongho carried Seonghwa, and Wooyoung half-carried Yeosang, nearly skeletal and crippled with it, as fast as they could back to the dock and the Horizon Line.

“Take—” Yeosang panted. “Get—him in the sec, second Re-Gen unit—”

“And you?” Jongho half-shouted, even as he threw himself through the bay doors and ran down the ramp, only able to stop at the doors to medical because he turned around and slammed his back into the wall beside them.

“I'll be—get Yunho to h-help—”

Jongho was already through the doors. Yunho was already taking Seonghwa from him, already hooking him up to the mask and eye cover, the two of them barely remembering to rip the remnants of Seonghwa's clothes away before easing him into the second Re-Gen tank. Mingi was already floating in the first, skinny and bruised but not bleeding out, not deathly injured.

Jongho watched as Wooyoung carried Yeosang to the third tank—it wasn't finished, but he lowered Yeosang into it anyway, reached to touch his face with a look of such heartbroken fear that it made Jongho's gut twist. He knew that feeling. Knew it intimately.

“Yunho,” he said, hearing his own voice but not really feeling it come out. “Get us the fuck off this planet, into orbit, then check on San and Captain Kim.”

“Yes Bosun,” Yunho nodded, practically running up the ramp and out of sight.

Jongho panted, collapsing to the floor, staring at the bodies floating in the tanks. He didn't know how to read the screens, but nothing was flashing, beeping, or red, so he was... Going to assume that things were fine. He looked over at Yeosang again—just laying there in the half-full tank, breathing too slowly, shaking all over.

“Give,” he was saying. “Mask, cl—close me in hit the, the yellow switch t'fill and, and check Seonghwa every—every half an hour to—just i-in case—”

Wooyoung nodded in apparent understanding and did as Yeosang asked with no hesitation. Put the mask over Yeosang's face, pushing the breathing tube down his throat. Dragged the cover over his eyes and made sure Yeosang was holding on to the bars as the side of the tank to keep him from floating up as the tank filled. So he was submerged as he lost consciousness. Wooyoung fell to his knees beside the tank.

“What...” Jongho asked, unsure if he wanted the answer. “What was that.”

“...That,” Wooyoung said, falling onto the ground to sit with his back against the tank, mirroring Jongho. “Is what Yeosang does to make sure we don't fucking _die._”

“Is it always like that?”

“Yes,” Wooyoung said, rubbing his hands over his face. “It—it hurts him. A lot. Anything more than.. Moderate wounds, depending on how bad they are it hurts him. It doesn't kill him. That's the worst part. He won't _die. _He'll just... Wither. Crumple. When we figured out that I could help him—that _other people _could help him, it... If he's too close to people dying he'll go crazy. But he can't help everyone. So we're... We're trying to narrow his focus. Something Captain Kim said, something... About focusing on only the immediate points around you. He talked like it was some kind of... Symmetrical design, or a star, or something, I don't know, I... Yeosang got it, I guess. Trying to do that a few years ago would have had him in pieces.” Wooyoung hesitated.

“Seonghwa was dead.”

“...What?”

“Seonghwa was dead. Very literally dead, Yeosang... It's because you were there, I was there. That's the only way he made it. Because we were there to help Yeosang bring him back.” Wooyoung smiled, reached over his shoulder to touch the tank with his fingertips. “Yeosang's magic hands.”

Jongho hadn't realized how _literally _those words were meant. “Stars.”

“Yeah,” Wooyoung nodded, wiping his face across his sleeve. “He, uh. He kept me from dying, when we were younger. I don't know where he pulled the power from. It should have killed him, probably. But it didn't. Thank all the stars and saints above.”

“Magic hands,” Jongho said, unable to stop himself from smiling. “That's incredible.”

“He is, isn't he,” Wooyoung hummed. “Our Starboy and his miracle hands.”

“And you can help him... Use this ability? Augment it?”

“Something like that?” Wooyoung said. “I think it's like... Maybe, when a light moves through a prism and it separates into different visible wavelengths, you know? So, Yeosang and I vibrate on similar frequencies, but you, you're on a wider wavelength, because that's how colors work—red is the longest wavelength, violet is the shortest. So you were—orange, right, it was orange? So maybe you added that extra boost we needed to keep Seonghwa alive. All because we're constantly vibrating at resonant frequencies. How fucking cool is that?”

“...I understood all of those words but I have no idea what you said.”

“Aah, that's okay,” Wooyoung laughed. “I have charts and stuff. Notes. We can talk about it later. When I'm not so tired.”

“Do you need to get into a bed?”

“Probably,” Wooyoung groaned, hauling himself up from the floor. “Yeosang'll have a fit if he sees me on the floor when he gets up.”

“Doesn't someone have to let him out?”

“Oh no, not with this one. This one has a, like... Not a timer, but a detector? It can evaluate physical condition and determine whether or not you're ready for the tank to open. I mean it's got a timer too. I just have no idea how to set it.”

Wooyoung staggered a little. Jongho lurched forward to grab him, hauling him to one of the beds and laying down beside him.

“Shit,” Wooyoung laughed. “If we were finally gonna end up in bed this isn't the way I wanted to do it, Jongho.”

“We'll make better arrangements when we get up,” Jongho mumbled, closing his eyes and bullying Wooyoung into being his little spoon. He should go check on Captain Kim. He should go check on San, and Yunho, but he was so tired? He was so tired. And everything hurt. And if Captain Kim were in any pain or danger, Jongho would have known it.

So he closed his eyes, pushed his face into Wooyoung's lavender hair, and focused on breathing. On the fact that they were safe. Away from captors and killers and dark, sandy hallways covered in splatters of blood black as tar where it had spilled from Seonghwa's wounds, from his mouth. Away from the black tears falling from Seonghwa's open and sightless white eyes.

Miracles happen. Sometimes, one has to touch another to prove that they're alive, that a miracle has happened, but they happen all the same.

Yeosang wakes because he's coming up out of the Re-Gen tank. Thank the stars above they'd installed a third. He opens his eyes beneath the cover, feels the breathing tube being pulled out. Blinks when he's exposed to light for the first time in who knows how long. Looking down at him is Yunho, who cups his face in both hands, uses his thumbs to wipe away the regenerative gel and kisses him, soft and affectionate.

“Mingi?” Yeosang asks.

“Fine,” Yunho breathes, kissing him again. Yeosang makes a soft sound. “He's fine, he's fine, all the readouts are good—”

“Seonghwa?” More kisses. Yunho's hands wipe at his face and neck.

“Recovering well, brain activity's good, you saved them, you and your miracle machines, your magic hands—you saved them, Yeosang.”

And then the kiss is deep, _deep _as Yunho hauls Yeosang out of the tank and into his arms. Yeosang wants to complain, because the regenerative gel is annoying to make and he likes to make it last, but Yunho doesn't seem willing to let go of him, one arm across his back and the other underneath his naked thighs.

“Yunho—”

“Please,” Yunho whispers against Yeosang's neck, which is still slippery with the gel. “Please Yeosang?”

Yeosang nods, and Yunho hikes him higher against his chest before carrying him to on of the medical beds—one with a liquid-proof mattress, bare of sheets. Yeosang's back hits it and he gasps, but it's warm under his skin. Heated internally to be comforting and healing, as he tries to make sure they always are. Yunho's bigger body is warm on his own as he pushes Yeosang's legs open. They've done this before, the two of them. When Mingi is injured or when the stress of a situation drives the Yunho and Mingi so high on adrenaline that they can't bring one another down. Yeosang could give them drugs and sometimes he does, but he'd rather give them this: his body, warm and pliant and in this case, slippery and slick, the gel sticking to his skin and sliding as Yunho rocks himself between Yeosang's legs, angles his tip, and pushes in with no preamble.

He's wet with the gel, and the obscene feeling of it—Yunho's cock practically _gliding _into him, fully buried in a matter of seconds and the hot slip of their skin—makes Yeosang moan, loudly.

“Stars, yes,” Yunho pants, reaching down to grab the rail at the top of the bed, bracketing Yeosang's head, trapping him. It feels good, it feels _so _good. Yunho's body slides against his own, wet and hot. The gel never gets sticky or dries, since Yeosang can use it to heal small cuts and scrapes and it needs to be able to move with the skin on it's own beneath a bandage. So it just feels like the two of them are... Yeosang can't describe it. It's so good. It's so, so good.

The wet slap, Yunho's hot skin, the feel of his musculature tightening and loosening, his big cock thrusting in, pulling out to slide against Yeosang's wet thigh or cheek before pushing back in without ever having to move his hands because Yeosang is slippery enough to squirm underneath him, can use his fingertips to encourage and guide.

Yunho's thrusts become hard. Savage. Yeosang just reaches down, holds himself apart a little further, angles his pelvis so Yunho's body is giving him the most contact. Yeosang loves that. Full-body contact.

“Yes,” he breathes, unable to reach Yunho's mouth completely, thus speaking against his lips, touching them with his tongue in askance. “Oh yes Yunho please, please kiss me?”

Yunho's entire body drops on Yeosang. He thrusts deeply, spasms, kisses Yeosang like he might die if he stops. Yeosang feels him cum, because Yunho cums more than anyone else on the ship—thick and white and _gushing. _

“Yes,” Yeosang moans, wrapping both arms around Yunho's neck as Yunho curls in, lifting Yeosang's body with his thighs so he's pinned between Yunho's legs and belly, just as he had been on the bridge. “Oh Yunho. Yunho that feels so good, _so _good.” Yeosang scratches his fingers through Yunho's hair and pulls, drags him up for a slow, wet kiss. A comforting kiss, an affectionate kiss. Yeosang is always affectionate with them like this. It brings him so much joy to be able to provide for them, to _heal _them.

“Yunho,” he breathes into Yunho's mouth, kissing his bottom lip, his tongue. “Yunho, I love you. I love you so, so much.” Yunho nods, burying his face into Yeosang's shoulder and shaking, staying there for a very long time. Long enough that he softens and slips out. Long enough that the slippery gel on Yeosang's body is slicked further with Yunho's cum dribbling out. It's a disgusting, erotic feeling. Yeosang loves it.

He doesn't protest when Yunho pulls away. When Yunho kisses him one more time and gets up, leaving Yeosang on the bed with gentle fingers dragging over his wet belly, his hard cock. But Yunho is exhausted, Yeosang knows this, and lets him slide into one of the medical beds, already made, and hide under the covers. He'd likely only pulled Yeosang out for that: to fuck him for comfort, which is _fine. _Yeosang doesn't mind, likes it.

Yeosang also isn't surprised when Jongho climbs up once Yunho is gone. He just hums and smiles. Jongho is fully dressed in his leathers, but also hard, straining against the zipper. Jongho likes to watch. Likes it messy, likes Yeosang's sloppy seconds, no matter who goes before him.

“You and your miracle hands,” Jongho says, reaching to touch Yeosang's chest. “Spectacular.”

“Thank you,” Yeosang says, genuinely, because he and Wooyoung have never let anyone see before, and he knows it's a frightening sight. It sure scared the hell out of him, when he did it for the first time.

“I knew you were incredible,” Jongho says, unzipping his leathers and pulling his cock out. Yeosang bites his lower lip, tries to open his legs a little further. Feels a little gush of Yunho's cum dripping from his gape. Jongho's tip feels fat and warm against him, rubbing, pressing but not pushing.

“I knew you were powerful, Yeosang,” Jongho says, angling, pressing in so, so slowly. “But that was...” Jongho grunts, seats himself fully, and Yeosang moans, soft and sweet, hair in his eyes. He's still wet with the gel. Jongho doesn't seem to mind. Just sits there, inside of Yeosang, pulsing as he always does with his heartbeat. Yeosang can feel it inside of him. It's so erotic. Reminds him that Jongho is alive.

“It's what I did to you,” Yeosang breathes, wrapping his arms around Jongho's neck as Jongho hauls him up into a sitting position, and then into his lap, kissing and biting at his neck. “Nnnit's what I did to you.”

“Nearly killed yourself?” Jongho asks, reaching between them to stroke at Yeosang, without thrusting himself, just staying inside. “Pushed yourself to limit because you wanted to save us?”

“Yes,” Yeosang said, tipping his head back. “I need you, you can't leave me, I can't—nn—” He tangles his hands in Jongho's hair, starts to move himself, which is what Jongho wants. It's what he always wants. The obscene slide of his body—slippery, full of Yunho's cum, leaking out with every pull up and press down—is enough to make Yeosang's cock twitch and jump in Jongho's hand. Jongho makes Yeosang feel dirty and wanted and _pleasured. _Like Jongho doesn't even _need _to do this, but he does it to please Yeosang. Only to please him.

“I nee—need you—”

“Show me,” Jongho bites into Yeosang's neck. Yeosang tightens his fists in Jongho's hair. “Show me how badly you need me.”

“J-Jongho—”

Yosang jerks and shakes. He cums in a hot little splash on Jongho's hand and belly. He hugs Jongho to him, kisses his mouth, rocks his hips back and forth until Jongho's hands claw into his lower back, yanking him in, holding him still so he can cum without being overstimulated by the movement of Yeosang's body.

“Yes,” he pants into Jongho's mouth. “Yes yes yes I need it Jongho I need you, _I need you—_” Yeosang makes a little sobbing noise as Jongho lays him back down. Thrusts a few times before pulling out of him.

“I know you do,” Jongho says, fist in Yeosang's wet hair, tilting his head for a more brutal kiss. “I need you, too.”

Yeosang squeezes up, tenses and gives another little spit of cum just with the words, warm against his wet skin. He stays tense as Jongho pulls away, tries to keep himself closed. He whimpers, feeling Jongho push back his hair, sweaty and slippery. “Don't go,” he whispers, and Jongho leans to kiss him.

“I'm leaving you in good company,” he smiles, biting Yeosang's lip and getting off the bed. He is immediately replaced by Wooyoung, who is grinning wildly down at Yeosang, pushing in with no preamble, no warning and no preparation, not that Yeosang needs it. He's wet and dripping and the sound as Wooyoung shoves inside is vulgar and sloppy.

“Hey,” Wooyoung hums, reaching to hold Yeosang's hands, just staying inside of him. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” Yeosang admits. “You?”

“Just tired,” Wooyoung says. “But I'm never too tired for you. Was it good? It looked good. God I could watch that all day. I'd watch all of them fuck you n'then put my cock in just to see if you could _feel _it.

“I feel it,” Yeosang laughs, breathless. “Mm. Always feel you, Wooyoung.”

“You know who else feels us?” Wooyoung asks, biting into Yeosang's neck. “Captain Kim.”

Yeosang strains up at the mention of their Captain, as he continually has since the first time Captain Kim finally, _finally _fucked him.

“He's watching,” Wooyoung breaths into his mouth, his eyes wide and shining and Seeing. Yeosang knows Wooyoung has a Sight—immediate and thorough and three hundred and sixty degrees, able to see threats and hidden things and traps. He loves the way Wooyoung's eyes look when he's using it. “He's watching us, Yeosang. He's never watched us before. No one's ever watched _us_.”

“No,” Yeosang knows. Because what happens to the two of them when they have sex is... Not something they've ever been comfortable sharing.

“Do you want him to watch?”

“_Yes._”

With their secret exposed to Jongho, it's only a matter of time before the rest of the crew finds out and at least this way, with their captain, it's on their terms.

So Wooyoung pulls Yeosang up and close. Drags their bodies off the bed with only a bit of a stumble, both of them laughing into on another's mouths. Wooyoung brings Yeosang to another bed, the bed they share in Medical when they need to do this. Wooyoung lays down, Yeosang straddling his hips. Yeosang reaches up to grab on to a rail that runs across Medical, ostensibly to hook IVs on, but they'd put it in for this. So Yeosang can spread his legs all the way and Wooyoung can hold his hips and thrust up, hard and deep and fast.

“Wooyoung,” Yeosang pants, grip tightening. He can feel himself getting warmer. “Oh stars, yes.”

“Do you like that Captain Kim is watching?” Wooyoung asks. “Yunho, too, they can both see. They're watching us, Yeosang, they're gonna see you glow. Our pretty little Starboy's gonna glow for everyone who can see us.”

“Yes,” Yeosang pants, straining, pulling on the bar, having a hard time with his hands still a bit wet from the tank. He can feel cum leaking out all over Wooyoung and it's filthy, so fucking dirty, feels so good. He loves them all so much.

“You should take Captain Kim too, Yeosang,” Wooyoung breathes, raking his nails down Yeosang's chest. Yeosang's glow pulses. “You want that? Want Captain Kim inside you, feeling just how fucking warm you are, how well you can take him?”

“Yes,” Yeosang pants, nodding, nipples hard and muscles tight and he feels the bed move, feels a naked body pressed to his own, a cock sliding against his thigh, a hand moving down his back to gather regenerative gel. Yeosang moans to hear the wet sound of a cock being stroked, slicked. Wooyoung pulls out, Captain Kim pushes in. He pulls out, Wooyoung pushes in. They thrust in opposite time, taking him from two different angles and Yeosang only gets brighter, can see himself starting to shine through his closed eyelids.

Then they both push in at once and Yeosang shrieks, lets go of the bar and falls to his hands then his elbows, bright as a sun for a moment before the glow mutes itself again, pulsing as they keep moving in him, not stopping.

“You can take it, can't you?” Wooyoung asks, breathing in his ear. “You can take us, you can take it Yeosang, you're doing so well—you can cum again, can't you? You can cum enough times to make sure Mingi and Seonghwa and everyone heal up, just like you do when they're sleeping, just like you do when you're worried.”

“Yes,” Yeosang almost sobs, knowing that Wooyoung is speaking to tell Captain Kim what's happening, but he doesn't care. Not when Captain Kim is forcing him up onto his knees, pulling his thighs further apart so Yeosang can rest his head back on Captain Kim's shoulder. “Captain,” he pants, feeling those small hands on his chest. “Oh _stars _Captain—”

“You feel good, Yeosang,” Captain Kim says into his ear, teeth scraping, but not biting. Wooyoung's hand wraps around Yeosang, stroking and twisting despite how Yeosang shakes in overstimulation. “I didn't know you could do this—that fucking you like this made you glow like the pretty little star you are.”

Yeosang hiccups, reaching back, hands clutching desperately to Captain Kim's waist.

“Show me what you can do, Yeosang,” Captain Kim says. “Show me.”

Another pulse of bright light. Yeosang's hair is turning blue, his fingernails, he can feel the electric spark of it all up and down his body, like he always does. His bones are starting to show through his skin not because he is withering, but because he is getting better. Stronger, recovering himself as much as he is recovering everyone else.

“Aah,” Captain Kim laughs. “No wonder sex helps me, if this is what it does to you, Starboy. Cum again,” he orders. “Make me fill you.”

“Captain,” it's a helpless little sob. Yeosang falls forward onto Wooyoung's chest, jerking against him, rubbing frantically into Wooyoung's belly, back onto their shared girth. Forward and back until Captain Kim grabs him by the hair, pulls Yeosang's body back and thrusts forward, hard.

“_Captain._”

It's a hot rush. Yeosang can't move, can't _do _anything but lay there and feel Captain Kim's cock pulsing with the spurts of his cum, which don't even stay inside Yeosang—it drips out as Captain Kim pulls away, leaving only Wooyoung inside. Captain Kim's hands clutch Yeosang's cheeks from beneath, pull them apart with his nails.

“Fuck him,” he tells Wooyoung, and Yeosang shakes, arms locked at the elbow, hands on either wide of Wooyoung's ribs.

“Aye Captain,” he says, and Yeosang can hear his vicious grin. Can feel Wooyoung fucking cum out of him, slapping up against him, making him shiver and tremble in wordless orgasm. Yeosang feels Captain Kim lift him off of Wooyoung as Wooyoung cums, thick and wet against his cheeks and thighs and gape before Yeosang is lowered back down.

“Oh, good boys,” Captain Kim laughs, raking his nails down Yeosang's back and pushing him down on top of Wooyoung. “Good boys. We'll have to do that again.”

“Yes Captain,” Yeosang breathes. But he's tired. He feels warm and good and sated, and he's tired. But he still feels Captain Kim kiss up his back. Hears Captain Kim kiss Wooyoung over Yeosang's shoulder.

“I'll fuck you next time,” Captain Kim says, and Yeosang feels Wooyoung shudder.

“Aye Captain,” he says, laying back and rubbing his hands up and down Yeosang's skin. Yeosang drifts off, safe on top of Wooyoung, safe on this ship, safe with these people. Safe, and protected, and loved.

Love and care show themselves in many ways, for many people. Time moves on, as it always does.

When Seonghwa finally comes out of the Re-Gen unit, what seems like a hundred eons after he'd been placed in it, his eyes are different. They are white. Black pupil, still, but his irises are white, and separated from his white scleras by a ring of ink black. He tries not to let it bother him, not to pay too much attention to it, but how can he not, when it... When it's all he can see when he looks at himself? It makes him feel strange. Not ugly, not disgusting, just strange. Uncomfortable. Like he's looking at someone else.

“Seonghwa,” comes Yunho's voice. “Mingi's looking for you.”

“Why?” Seonghwa asks, standing at the navigation console.

“He wants to talk to you. You should go find him.”

Seonghwa can hear the 'or else' in Yunho's tone. It's not that Seonghwa is avoiding Mingi, it's just that he'd... He'd killed himself to get revenge for him. Yeosang had told Seonghwa he died. That makes him a little uncomfortable, too. He doesn't know what to say to Mingi. Doesn't know how to make it... Normal, again.

But he goes, because it's been a couple of weeks and Yunho is practically shoving him away from the console and he's not sure how much longer he'll be able to stand this—feeling like a stranger in his own skin, like he's not really here.

Mingi is, as always, in the Mess. He likes to pre-prepare food, so anyone can just come and eat when they're hungry, even though they're supposed to have set meal times. Though Mingi _does _keep a chart as to who is actually eating, and occasionally grabs someone by the back of the neck to drag them to the Mess and _make sure _they eat something. It's usually San. Or Captain Kim.

“Yunho said you were looking for me,” Seonghwa says, feeling grossly awkward. Mingi looks up at him and smiles. That makes Seonghwa feel _worse _for having avoided him.

“Yeah,” Mingi says, standing. “Come here, please?”

Seonghwa does. He walks toward Mingi and jerks in surprise when Mingi wraps him in a warm, excruciatingly gentle hug—an arm around his waist, and another across his shoulders. Mingi is grossly strong. Unbelievably powerful. So for him to be so careful, so tender, takes a lot of effort on his part. Seonghwa just stands there for a moment, before he lifts his own arms to return the embrace. It feels—it feels good. To really feel that Mingi is alive and breathing under his hands. Seonghwa doesn't realize he's panting and fisting Mingi's shirt in his hands until Mingi's words get through to him.

“I'm here,” he's saying. “I'm here. Listen to my heart. You're safe. I'm here.”

Seonghwa shivers and squeezes tighter. Mingi hums a sigh over his shoulder.

“Thank you, Seonghwa,” he says, his mouth near the back of Seonghwa's head. “For coming for me. For saving me.”

“Don't thank me for that,” Seonghwa whispers. “Any of us would have done it.”

“But you made sure it'd never happen again,” Mingi says. Seonghwa presses his face against Mingi's shoulder. “You made sure they couldn't do it again. And you almost died. You almost—Seonghwa, you_ died_. I think—I think that deserves more than, than awkward silence, don't you?”

“I suppose,” Seonghwa says, not wanting to acknowledge that he's shaking, that he's pressing closer so he can hear and feel Mingi's heartbeat against him. So he can wrap his shadows around him to feel that he is real.

His darkness is becoming a realer part of him, now. He can change its texture at will, change its depth, its density. Right now, it's warm and soft around the two of them, creating a void where only they exist, safe in darkness.

“Can I kiss you, Seonghwa?” Mingi asks, here, safe in the nothingness and Seonghwa nods, though doesn't let go. Feels Mingi turn his head and nudge, nuzzle and press his lips to Seonghwa's skin before his mouth slips over Seonghwa's. The kiss is not chaste, but it is not rushed. It's soft and patient, like the two of them have all the time in the world. Seonghwa normally doesn't kiss like this. With Captain Kim, it's wild and fast. With Yunho and San, it's straight to tongues and laughs and lip-biting. Kisses with Yeosang and Wooyoung are more like breathing into one another's beings, and Seonghwa has yet to be given anything more than a peck by Jongho. Maybe he's been avoiding any intimacy with Mingi because he's known, in his heart, that it would be like this.

Warm. Affectionate. Slow and deep. A love different from anything he's experienced in years.

“Is it all right if I do this,” Mingi asks, sliding the fingers of one hand through Seonghwa's dark hair. Seonghwa shivers and presses closer. It feels good.

“Is it all right if I touch you like this?”

“Yes,” Seonghwa whispers, gasping as he's lifted easily, like he weighs nothing more than a child might, and held against Mingi's warm chest.

“Arms on my neck,” Mingi says, very quietly. Seonghwa leans in, does as Mingi says and gives the softest of moans when Mingi kisses his neck, gentle and sucking. Seonghwa knows he's sweaty from the heat of the bridge—they've been flying through a starfield, and the outside heatshields are taking a beating, according to Wooyoung's communications—but Mingi doesn't seem to care. He holds Seonghwa to his chest and carries him out of the mess and down the hallway to his bedroom. Mingi rarely sleeps there, preferring to sleep with Yunho or San, but the bed is made and the room is dim-lit as the door opens.

Seonghwa feels... Very young and foolish as Mingi places him on the bed, as though they are lovers on their wedding night. That doesn't stop him from opening his legs for Mingi's broader body. That doesn't keep Seonghwa from stretching out, body more vulnerable by the second as Mingi undresses his chest, pushing away his uniform jacket, unbuttoning his shirt. Seonghwa sits up a little to wiggle his arms from the sleeves before laying back onto the soft material. He trusts Mingi completely. He trusts every member of this crew completely and with no hesitation. And Seonghwa... Seonghwa _wants _Mingi to touch him like this.

Mingi's fingers linger over the two scars on Seonghwa's torso. It says something about the severity of the wounds that they'd scarred so much. Yeosang had been distressed about it, but a few warm kisses and fingers moving through his hair had calmed his anxiety, as they always do.

Mingi kisses the scar on Seonghwa's belly. He breathes across it, tongues at it, the noise of his actions soft and wet. Seonghwa moans very quietly. One hand finds its way into Mingi's hair, fingertips rubbing at his scalp as Mingi kisses up his chest to the second scar.

“Feels good?” Mingi asks, soft into Seonghwa's neck, one hand sliding fingers across Seonghwa's nipple.

“Feels good,” Seonghwa assures, trembling. “Feels good, please... Please touch me more?” he asks, knowing that he's blushing, feeling absolutely ridiculous.

“Yes,” Mingi hums, sucking at his neck, at the soft spot under the cut of his jaw. Seonghwa shivers, presses Mingi's head down against him, just a little. Mingi sucks harder, settles his weight more completely against Seonghwa's body. Mingi makes Seonghwa feel _small. _Which is a very difficult thing to accomplish. His hands are big as they slide down Seonghwa's sides from his underarms to his waist, where his fingers move to open the button-fly of Seonghwa's pants. Seonghwa's shadows assist in pressing his legs together and pulling his pants away—they've already unlaced his boots and dropped them to the floor. They don't necessarily move independently of Seonghwa, but they follow his desires in many ways. He wants to be nude under Mingi's clothed body. So he is.

“That's handy,” Mingi teases, sitting up. He looks down at Seonghwa, slides his fingertips from collarbones to groin. Seonghwa shivers at the touch and doesn't stop Mingi from parting his legs, rubbing hands along his inner thighs. “What else can they do?”

“Lots... Lots of things,” Seonghwa says, breathless as Mingi teases first gentle fingertips, then pulling fingernails down the sensitive skin. He gives each inner thigh a hard _slap _and Seonghwa gasps, arching his back.

“That's okay?” Mingi asks, smoothing the red marks with his hands. “Doesn't hurt?”

“No,” Seonghwa shakes his head and Mingi nods.

“Can they... Open you up? Your shadows? Wooyoung tells me you use them on him, but can you use them on yourself?”

“I,” Seonghwa flushes.

“You can,” Mingi smiles, and Seonghwa squirms. “I want to watch. Can I watch you open up for me? I bet it's beautiful, Seonghwa. Just like the rest of you.”

The compliment makes Seonghwa practically writhe, grabbing at the blankets in lieu of anything else. He nods. He wants Mingi to see, to watch him. Seonghwa doesn't let anyone see him this vulnerable but... But Mingi is looking down at him and his eyes are so warm and accepting.

Mingi holds Seonghwa by the hips and pulls him up his long thighs, leaving Seonghwa panting, curled up, his legs supported by Mingi's arms. He has a perfect view between Seonghwa's legs. “Let me see,” he says and Seonghwa closes his eyes. Focuses on it, on what he wants. On opening himself for Mingi. He slides a thin tentacle over himself, against his rim a few times. He chokes out a sound as Mingi kisses him, bites at the skin around it.

“Ah,” he pants, as he slides into himself and Mingi's tongue does, too. Just a little, enough to tease as Seonghwa's thin tentacle writhes and wriggles, rubbing inside Seonghwa and against Mingi's tongue, too. He struggles to breathe as he pushes his tentacle in a little deeper. It widens, turning and wiggling and Mingi hum against his skin.

“Can they hold your legs up,” he asks, the warmth of his breath a beautiful tease. “I want to hold you open.” Seonghwa makes a noise that's almost a whine, and nods. His shadows expand to hold his weight and he cries out when Mingi's big hands press to either side of his ass, pulling his cheeks apart, licking the sensitive skin around where Seonghwa's tentacle is expanding inside of him.

“Fuck yourself with it,” Mingi says, biting at the tender flesh. Almost against his own conscious will, Seonghwa's tentacle starts to thrust, thickening, wet and slimy. The sound is positively disgusting, slick and vulgar.

“Oh, that's beautiful, Seonghwa,” Mingi murmurs, shifting his body close to be reaching under and over Seonghwa's thighs, pulling him open, exposing him. “Make it bigger. Bigger.”

Every time Seonghwa starts to get complacent with the comfort of it, Mingi tells him to make it bigger. He does. Longer, thicker, stretching himself open. He sobs a little, when Mingi runs fingers against his _aching _sac, the base of his cock, dripping onto his chest in this position. Little splatters of black, just like every other fluid that comes out of his body.

“Pull it out all the way,” Mingi says. “And do it slower.”

Seonghwa does. He does, and he jerks up when, after he pulls all the way out, Mingi's tongue slides against his rim, fucking into his gentle little gape. Then his tentacle pushes back in, pulls out. Mingi's tongue pushes in.

Bigger, Mingi encourages. Bigger, thicker, longer. Seonghwa shakes, whimpers. Fucks himself, feels Mingi's tongue fucking him. The slime that covers his tentacles can't leak out, because Mingi is holding him open, not giving him the chance to squeeze closed.

“I think you're ready,” Mingi hums. “Hold yourself open. Just like this, Seonghwa.”

Seonghwa does as he's told, trembling to be so out of control of the situation. But Mingi is getting up to remove his own clothes, getting back down onto the bed, easing Seonghwa's body down. Seonghwa can feel the tip of Mingi's cock against the sides of his rim. Feels his warmth and spasms.

“Once I'm inside you,” Mingi says. “I want you to let go. Completely, Seonghwa. No shadows, no darkness. Just you. Just me inside you. Can you do that?”

Seonghwa nods frantically, hands scrabbling for purchase on the blankets as Mingi—oh _stars, _A Mingi pushes into him. He's getting slick with Seonghwa's slime and the thrust inside is slow and easy. Seonghwa is so open, so loose and dripping and _filthy. _

“That's it,” Mingi says. “That's it, Seonghwa, you can take me. You can fit me, I know you can. Just a little more, a little more.”

It feels like it takes a thousand years. A thousand beautiful, agonizing years before Mingi is seated, fully, and Seonghwa's shadows rush away, leaving him to clench down and practically shriek in shocked pleasure. Mingi is big, just like the rest of him. Mingi is big and warm and real. His weight between Seonghwa's thighs is a pleasure so intense that Seonghwa shakes with it.

“Mingi,” he whimpers. He makes a broken little moan when Mingi pulls him up from the bed. His big hands are splayed across Seonghwa's back, lifting him just enough to spread his own thighs.

“Legs around me,” Mingi says. Seonghwa circles his legs around Mingi's waist, hooking them. Mingi draws him up the rest of the way and the change in angle makes Seonghwa hiccup, arms desperately tight around Mingi's shoulders as Mingi's big hands hold under his thighs.

“Feels good?” Mingi asks, and Seonghwa nods, unable to talk. Then Mingi starts to bounce Seonghwa's weight. With _obscene _ease, Mingi lifts and lowers Seonghwa against his lap at an angle that gives him the deepest thrust, gives Seonghwa the most amount of body contact, lets them kiss, wet and vulgar.

“Nn,” Seonghwa whines, loving the slap of flesh to flesh as he always does, no matter who is fucking whom. His fingers tangle up in Mingi's soft, soft hair and he pants into their kisses, moans and jerks when his cock slides against Mingi's hard belly. Mingi seems content with the rhythm he's set, and Seonghwa almost cries because it's—it's not _enough, _he needs it faster, harder, he doesn't need Mingi to treat him like he's made of glass.

“Harder,” he pleads into Mingi's mouth, his upper arms resting on Mingi's shoulders. “I can take it, I can take it Mingi—”

Mingi _fucks _Seonghwa.

He does everything Seonghwa asks of him. Harder, deeper, slower until it's agonizing, until Seonghwa is shaking with stimulation, on the cusp of orgasm. Then he stops, draws Seonghwa back. He does it over and over and over until Seonghwa is sobbing, crying with his cheek against Mingi's neck and finally begging. He's shameless and needy and desperate, forehead to Mingi's shoulder and fingers tight in Mingi's hair.

“Please,” he hiccups. “Please_, _Mingi I need, I need it so badly _please._”

“All you had to do was ask,” Mingi murmurs into his hair, and he holds Seonghwa tight. He reaches a hand between them to stroke and Seonghwa does scream. He is electrified and overstimulated and when he finally cums it's a hot black splatter on Mingi's golden stomach. Seonghwa shakes and cries and squeezes tight, so sensitive inside he's so sure he can _feel _Mingi coming inside of him, a warm rush that makes him mewl. Mingi lays Seonghwa back on the bed but Seonghwa doesn't let go of him. Stays wrapped around him, kissing him frantically, fingers fisted in Mingi's hair until Mingi stops fucking him, stops sliding in and out and simply stays in.

Seonghwa whimpers, gasping when Mingi turns them over, laying on his own back with Seonghwa on top of him.

“Give me your cum,” Mingi says and, shaking, Seonghwa lets go of Mingi's hair and slides his fingers through the mess on Mingi's belly. Offers those fingers to Mingi, who sucks them into his mouth with a gentle hum. Seonghwa shudders.

“Lay down,” Mingi says. Seonghwa does. A blanket is draped over their bodies. Seonghwa rests his head on Mingi's collarbones and neck.

“Sleep,” Mingi urges, and Seonghwa does. He all but collapses, unable to keep any muscls tense, and as he starts to drift off, he feels Mingi slip out of him. Feels himself gape open then squeeze closed, and can't find it in himself to be embarrassed. Not when he feels so good. So safe.

Not with Mingi's big hands running up and down his back, his low voice cooing into Seonghwa's ear, _that was beautiful Seonghwa, you're so beautiful. Thank you.Thank you for everything you've done._

When the end of the darkness is finally found, there is anticipation and fear and excitement. Things are about to change, but they've always been destined to change.

The star they were hovering by was a plethora of colors. Shining, shimmering, ever-changing. Captain Kim, despite his best efforts, had been getting worse and worse as they made their way here. Bleeding almost constantly, having to cover his ears and disappear—sometimes with someone but mostly by himself. He sat now in the lower observation deck, trying to speak, trying to remember what he was supposed to do.

It was all instinct, now. He couldn't focus. Couldn't think.

“Hold my hands,” he grated out, fingers tangling desperately with San and Wooyoung, each to either side of him. San hesitated for a moment before reaching out to hold Seonghwa's hand, who held Yunho's, who held Mingi's, who held Jongho's, who held Yeosang's who, of course, held Wooyoung's other hand. They created a circuit between them, and Captain Kim started to bleed from the nose, squeezing their hands.

“I'm fine,” he breathed through his mouth. “I'm fine, I'm fine. Just—stay like this. It doesn't hurt.”

None of them believed him, but they did as he asked. Quietly held his and one another's hands. Everything was eerily quiet. With the ship simply floating in distant orbit of the star, the engines only hummed. There was no yelling, no running, no laughter. Just the engines, and the slowly building sound of...

Captain Kim didn't know what to call it. Something. It was a sound but it was also a pressure. A push against his back. No one had been able to tell him what this was. What was going to happen.

So when his mind started to crack, to fall apart in the presence of all those he loved, he wanted to let go, but they wouldn't let him. Their hands tightened. They weren't going to let go.

_Hongjoong, we **will** wait for you._

But the time for waiting was over.

Captain Kim felt his entire being crushing in on itself. Cracking, breaking, splitting into pieces and screaming as they ripped themselves from his body like pulling out shrapnel from a wound—

A shrapnel wound, straight in the throat, hearing a distant voice—

_You're gonna be okay, Wooyoung, you're gonna be okay—_

Blood and broken bones, two of them in pieces in the Re-Gen tanks—

—_And check Seonghwa every—every half an hour to—just i-in case—_

Staring at him, he's too exhausted to lie, and then too worried to think—

_I mean it, Wooyoung. Get them someplace **safe**_—

Eyes pink and black and blazing, the thrill of the kill, the control, the power—

_Do you know what my Captain calls me—_

A name known, an orgasm, a kiss—

_Who are you? Captain Kim. I'm Captain Kim—_

Guilt, fury, hot and disappointed anger—

_You should be with Mingi. He needs you—_

Thy should have stayed behind to wait for him, they shouldn't have left him—

_I would **never**. Abandon a member of my crew, Yunho. If you believe nothing else, please believe that—_

This pain is nothing compared to the pain of having left his family, his crew—this pain is nothing—

_Mingi, oh sweet stars above—_

He can feel his pounding heart, can feel the little sound in the back of his throat that he's biting back—

_Please be careful—_

Any damage can be healed, so long as he is alive to be healed—

_It's worth it to die like this—_

A voice in the dark—

_Come on, you stubborn bastard._

A small man walks away from him, stern and unafraid—

_As Quartermaster it is expected that you will take position as his Second Navigator—_

A man, his eyes full of wonder and savage, savage pleasure, letting himself be pressed harder into the brick—

_I ain't scared of what the fuck's out there in the vacuum and I ain't scared of you, neither—_

A meathook in the dark, bright white pain, a tight fist, a well-balanced knife—

_This is what you get, old man—_

A ship. A ship he names the _Horizon Line _because you can never truly reach the horizon. It will always be just out of reach and that's where it should be. Because you should always strive for further, more, always more. Never settle, never lie down and accept—

_How do you think I became a crazy bastard, Bosun. I know everything—_

A man with a machine. Screaming pain, all encompassing. Worth it to stay with them, to stay with them, his crew, his crew—

_My crew. _

So we reach the end: all for one, and one for all.

He wakes up, groaning, his entire body aching. Everything huts, but it's... A good hurt? Like all of his muscles are warm and stretched out. He can't move, though. The others are on the floor in various states of wakefulness. They're all here. Something's changed. He can feel it in his bones, he can _See _it with his eyes as he stares at the ceiling.

How? How can he See it?

He closes his eyes.

“San?” Someone asks. San groans and sits up, rubbing at his eyes.

“What happened,” San asks.

“Fuck,” Wooyoung rasps out, his head spinning. How does he know Wooyoung's head is spinning?

“Well that was. Uncomfortable.” How does he know that Yunho is in pain from the way his arm is bent back under himself?

“Is everyone okay?” Yeosang's voice is soft, and his worry is bitter in the back of his mouth. How does he know that Yeosang is so worried?

“I think so,” Seonghwa. The shadows are licking around his body to keep him upright, surrounding the rest of them, too. Supporting them.

“That hurt,” Mingi grunts, on hands and knees. Glad he's mostly indestructible. How does he know Mingi is glad?

“Captain Kim?”

Jongho's voice cuts across the groaning and complaining and confusion.

“Captain. _Captain._”

There is a terrified little pause and there is San's face peering down at him, so soft and worried and frightened. “Captain?” He asks. Then, in a whisper as he bends closer, “Hong. Hongjoong?”

“San,” Hongjoong breathes out, opening his eyes and staring up at San, who smiles, teary, and reaches to pull him up, to hug him.

“You're okay,” San whispers, and Hongjoong struggles to hold him back. He feels so... Weak. Noodle-y. Even Seonghwa's shadows are having trouble keeping him upright, but that makes sense. He hasn't had them for very long. Of course he doesn't know how to use them.

“Oh thank the stars,” San clutches him more tightly, and then Wooyoung is at his back, tangling a hand in his hair, pressed in close against him. He's not sure where their bodies begin and his ends.

“Sweet stars and all the saints above, Kim Hongjoong,” Wooyoung growls out. “Don't _do that._”

“Do what?” Hongjoong asks, one arm flailing a little. It's Yunho who grabs it. Kisses it, shares it with Mingi as Yeosang straddles Wooyoung's leg and kisses his head.

“Any of that,” Seonghwa says, his shadows tangling like a fist in Hongjoong's shirt. “Any of that, never again.”

“What the fuck is _happening,_” Mingi asks, sounding bewildered and also full of wonder. “I feel so—so—”

“Different,” Yeosang provides, nodding. “I feel it too. It's... Warm.”

“Like a hug!” San says, laughing, still full of joy about the fact that they're all here, they're all here and alive and healthy and no one is dead and no one is hurt and—

“I told you,” comes Jongho's voice, from where he stands just behind Seonghwa, one hand in Seonghwa's dark hair.

“I told you, didn't I? That we'd all wait for you.

“You did,” Hongjoong laughs, because he can't help but laugh. San's joy is infectious, Yunho's relief is palpable and Yeosang's relief is cool under his skin. “You did say that.”

“You didn't believe me.”

“I didn't.”

“Do you now? Do you believe me now, Kim Hongjoong, you mad bastard?”

Hongjoong grins, bright and toothy and crazed and _happy. _

“I do,” he says, tipping his head back into Wooyoung's shoulder, bringing up his own hand and Seonghwa's to fist in Wooyoung's hair and kiss him, kiss him hot and deeply and so full of elation he might burst. Jongho grabs Hongjoong's hair and tugs, gently. Hongjoong speaks into Wooyoung's mouth, Wooyoung's laughing, smiling mouth. San giggles into his neck between kisses. Kisses Yeosang and Seonghwa, when he's not kissing Hongjoong. Mingi and Yunho are still kissing his fingers, kissing one another, tongues and lips, warm and wet and comfortable. His crew, his. Always his.

“Sweet stars, and all the saints above, I do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is barely edited and please remember that my e key is still messed up 
> 
> you can find me on the bird app @iwriteausins  
it is a personal account so i post/reblog a lot of things just as an fyi

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me on the bird app @iwriteausins!


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